


Of Elves and Humans: Redux

by Merilsell



Series: Lenyaverse [1]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age Origins
Genre: Adventure, Blight fic, Canon Divergence, Canon-Typical Violence, Character Development, Character Study, Cultural Differences, Dalish Elven Culture and Customs, Dalish Origin, Dialogue Heavy, Drama, Eventual Romance, Eventual Smut, F/M, Gen, Introspection, Lenya Mahariel, Lenyaverse, Long, Not Canon Compliant, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, POV Multiple, POV Third Person Limited, Relationship Study, Rewrite, Romance, Slow Burn, added scenes, very slow burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-09-16
Updated: 2017-10-14
Packaged: 2017-10-22 07:33:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 22,202
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/235540
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Merilsell/pseuds/Merilsell
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Trust is a delicate flower that needs to get nurtured and time to grow. Even more so love. A tale of two disparate Wardens forced together, of finding a way to overcome the distrust, and their own painful past in the time of the Blight. Very in-depth, character-focused exploration of the Dalish origin/warden, and of all DA:O companions during the Fifth Blight. Follows and expands on canon events; AU in some ways. Multiple POV's and pairings. </p><p>*********************</p><p>This is a COMPLETELY new rewritten and revised version of my story, originally posted on Fanfiction.net. Please see the individual chapter notes for more informations about what had been changed. Tags and Rating are subject to change and will get updated with its further progress. Updates: Bi-weekly.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. New Meetings And Old Problems

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Of Elves And Humans](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/323031) by Merilsell (Yours truly). 



> My labor of love of seven years of writing on FFN. I always wanted to bring this story over to ao3, but after consideration of how old the original, first chapters are, I didn't feel comfortable to leave/post them as they are right now. Thus I decided to do a complete rewrite of the first original 30-40 chapters, and afterwards will revise/edit the other chapters in a way I see more fitting to the vision I have now of this story and its characters. 
> 
> This will be far more than just a simple rehashing of game events. I'll give the Dalish origin and Warden and all her companions more substance and depth with lots of added (and canon divergence) scenes, and more extensive/in depth-dialogue. I'm a very character-focused writer, who likes to take things slow but steady. No matter if it is character development, or the relationships to each character. It all makes it more realistic, imo. 
> 
> So buckle up as you return with me to Dragon 9:30- this is going to be a looooong story :)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is now finally beta-d. Many thanks to [heffalumps](https://archiveofourown.org/users/heffalumps/pseuds/heffalumps) for her help :) The other chapters will follow and get beta-d in time as well, so please be patient with me ;)

 

* * *

 ***~Home is behind**  
**The world ahead**  
**And there are many paths to tread**  
**Through shadow**  
**To the edge of night**  
**Until the stars are all alight...~*** _  
__\- Pippin; LotR, Return of the king_

* * *

 

 

** OF ELVES AND HUMANS: REDUX **

 

Ostagar was brimming with hectic activity.

People rushed back and forth in between the wide-spread mass of tents, barking orders at servants and soldiers alike. The sound intermingled with the metallic clang of swords clashing and grunts of exertion of men and women testing their skills against each other.

Trails of green leaves mixed with scarlet upon cracked white stone hushed aside whenever a messenger rushed from one place to another. Placed amidst nature as the ancient tevinter ruins were, it was no surprise to find evidence of a waning summer here, instead of only cold, splintered stone. After all, its strategic placement at the edge of the Korcari Wilds was the reason why the ruin still existed and why they all were here for the upcoming battle.

Dressed in the heavy armor set of standard Warden uniform, Alistair tried to ignore the commotion around him. Between two sets of crumbling stone pillars and under the warmth of the midday sun, he had found his own little place of respite. It was far from being quiet here, and yet it was a vast improvement from the boisterous volume of the main Warden camp. Besides, he needed time away from them to lick his wounds, or more like his wounded _pride_. His fellow Warden – a gruff city elf from Gwaren named Deyron – had sent him down on his ass more times during their long sparring match than he cared to count.

Damn these weaselly, dexterous rogues with their stabbing knives and daggers everywhere! They already had one weapon more than him to stab someone with, so, to even out the chances, they should at least be forced to slow down during a fight. Of course, no one had told Deyron that before their match. The elf, despite being half his height, had bestowed upon him a beautiful collection of _arse bruises_ , which would turn a simple task such as sitting down into a painful ordeal for the next couple of days. Alistair snorted, wryly amused at his own predicament. After all, the sparring match had been his idea to begin with, to work on the shortcomings of his training he still needed to iron out. Especially when it came to facing dual-wielding, stabby rogues, which had turned out just as well as he'd thought in the end. At least killing darkspawn would be more forward in the upcoming battle - or so he hoped.

"Hey, doll."

Speaking of stabby rogues, one of them stood propped against the adjutant wall, his body turned toward the unfortunate female soldier next to him. Daveth was one of the recruits Duncan had found earlier, though Alistair wasn't quite sure what his mentor had seen in him. It couldn't have been his smug sense of superiority nor his lack of respect for women, that was certain.

"Wanna release some tension before the battle?"

As far across the area as they were from where he sat, Alistair couldn't see the woman's expression. If she was cringing even half as hard as he was at Daveth’s words, this conversation wouldn't last long.

"Oh yes, sure," she said. Her ensuing laughter was bright, friendly.

Wait, what? Alistair blinked. That… _w_ _orked_ ? He'd never understand women – _oh_. Still reeling from the unexpected turn of events, he nearly missed the resounding slap Daveth received.

"Thank you. I feel much less tense already,” he heard the woman say as she turned around and stormed away, leaving a dumbfounded Daveth behind.

Shit. He shouldn't laugh, he really _really_ shouldn't - especially since his aptitude for flirting was virtually non-existent. Alistair coughed to stifle said laugh and hid his grin behind a hand - with questionable success. The female soldier had stormed off toward his general direction. When she passed Alistair, within his secluded spot, their eyes met. Noticing his amusement, she smiled at him.

Alistair sputtered as he quickly glanced away, the heat rising in his cheeks. Still fixating on the ground, he took several stabilizing breaths, peeved with his inability to even _look_ at a woman without turning into a beet-red, bumbling idiot. _Maker, would this ever get easier?_

Lost in thought as he was, he didn't notice the hulking figure approaching him. Only as the person blocked out the sun with their sheer mass, he blinked up at them, recognizing his fellow Warden. "Oh hi, Junan. Nice of you to worry that I don't get sunburned. You know, my skin is so _sensitive_."

The bulky man raised one black, bushy eyebrow. "Makes sense for you to sit in the midday sun, then."

"Oh, that," Alistair replied in the same snarky tone. "Yes, I was hoping to develop a tan before the battle to look good, but alas..." Leaving the sentence hanging, he pointed at his naturally brown skin.

That elicited a deep chuckle out of the paler man. "What are you doing here, Junior?"

Maker, how he hated that nickname. With a bit of luck he could it finally pass on to the other recruits soon. "Enjoying the sun, until you came along, obviously." Alistair shot him a crooked grin and made a nod toward where Daveth stood. "Also watching the recruits, as is my task as junior member of the Order."

Junan's green eyes flitted over to the momentarily miserable rogue and quickly grasped the situation. "Maker's breath, he tried it again?"

"Yes." The laugh Alistair had suppressed before escaped his throat now. He shrugged a bit. "I'm not sure what Duncan saw in him, to be honest."

"You tell me, Junior. The first time the guy was in our camp he'd tried to pickpocket me."

"What?" Alistair looked up at him, eyes wide. "And still you haven't ripped him apart with your bare hands. Wonders never cease."

"Only because I respect the commander's decision too much and need my strength for the upcoming battle." Junan sighed and drove a large hand through his short-cropped dark hair. "But at least he isn't as stuck up as that knight, Jory. If I have to hear about his wife one more time..."

"Oh, jealous, are we?"

He snorted. "Hardly. Nothing wrong with seeking fleeting diversion, but attachments like that are only a hindrance to who we are and what we do, you know?"

"Yeah..." Alistair agreed, but his heart wasn't in it. Not that he minded when his Grey Warden brothers sought out, well, _temporary company_ , but it simply wasn't something for him. With this life, it was probably foolish to hope for something… deeper than that, though he couldn't help hoping anyway. "Wait." He narrowed his eyes at the involuntary shade provider next to him. "Didn't you have a girl in Denerim?"

"One?" Junan laughed. "Please. One woman is not enough to handle..." He made a sweeping motion over his armored, muscular frame. "... all this."

"Alright." Alistair let his head fall into his gloved hand with a groan. "Forget I asked."

"However, I'm not an ass and am upfront with the girl about it. So she knows exactly what she is agreeing to when-"

"I get it, okay." His tone was harsher than intended, which only added to the new blush spreading across his face. "Spare me the details."

"Whoa, no need to get so defensive, Junior. After all, you asked me, remember?"

Alistair's anger deflated with a sigh. "I know, sorry. It is just-"

"Did Benson and Pirian tease you again for what happened in Denerim?" Junan exhaled with a shake of his head. "Maker, they act as if they were never your age and inexperienced. I told them to drop it, since it is your choice whether or not to spend the night -"

"Yes, I _remember_." How could he forgot the night where his fellow Wardens lured him into the Pearl under false pretenses? Fade take him, he didn't even know what that place was before. Sure, they had… odd decoration for a tavern, and the women sitting at their table seemed especially fixated on complimenting his appearance. As soon as his fellow Wardens confessed their plan to hook him up with one of them and told him what this place really was (no broth there, none at all), Alistair had bolted into the night, red-faced. The humiliation of the whole situation still gave him nightmares. Well, that _and_ darkspawn.

"I think that, in their own twisted way, they wanted to give you a treat before we had to leave for Ostagar."

Alistair shifted in his stony seat, which only served to remind him of all the bruises forming on his backside. "Um, yeah. I’d prefer a book or a plate of cheese then, instead, thank you very much. Or those tiny Orlesian sweets packed in colorful wraps? I would have taken those too." He frowned at him. "But gifting a woman like a piece of meat? That is all kinds of wrong!"

"The possibility to spend the night with her, not the woman herself, more like." Junan halted with a shudder as a harsh gust of wind hit his pale skin. Ah, yes, Ferelden's legendary brisk weather in action, even in the late summer. Wonderful. High above a vast, stretching forest and close to the Korcari Wilds as they were, the air changed constantly between cold and stuffy. Especially the nights could be uncomfortable and nigh frigid with the howling of the wind in between the cracked stones of the ruins. "Look, Alistair," Junan said, patting him on the shoulder. "No one expects you to run after everything with two legs and tits like Daveth does. That is simply not you..."

"Oh, thank you for your vote of confidence."

"... But if you never even try to talk to women, you'll never find out what you like," Junan finished, despite the sarcastic interruption.

"Oooor maybe there are simply more important things going on right now than my non-existing success with women. Like… oh, I don't know, the upcoming battle against the darkspawn horde approaching Ostagar? And all the talk about it being a Blight?"

"Right." He audibly exhaled. "Back to business, then?"

"I'd prefer that, to be honest," Alistair nodded. "I will still have enough time to make an ass out of myself in between killing darkspawn, don't you worry." He made a face. "Besides, I already had my fair share of _that_ today."

"You mean your sparring match against Deyron?"

"More like the fail thereof."

"Is that why you are out here instead back at camp?" Junan laughed out, then shrugged with his broad shoulders. "Don't be so hard on yourself, Junior. That guy is _vicious_ with his blades. Even took me a few years to best him, so you still got a lot of time to do so - and get better when facing dual wielding rogues. You are young, and you are a fast learner. You will get there, believe me."

"Somehow you sound much more like Duncan than six years my senior right now..." Alistair grinned at his fellow Warden, actually relieved and pleased to be hearing encouragements instead of being teased, for once. While it was all done in a friendly, companionable way by his fellow Wardens, and not at all viciously like some boys did it back in Redcliffe or in the Chantry, it could still be grating at times. "But thanks. Speaking of him, have you heard anything about when Duncan will return from recruiting, well, the third recruit?"

"You mean… like a letter?" Mirroring his grin, Junan produced a folded document out of the small satchel at his belt. "Just came with the king's raven an hour ago. It is the reason I went searching for you, actually. I knew you could use some good news after the sparring gone wrong."

"Aww, you are too good to me..." Showing him a genuine smile, Alistair took the proffered letter to read it, feeling nearly giddy at the prospect. Unfolding it, he saw that Duncan's otherwise clear handwriting was scrawled, the words brief and choppy as if hastily written down. Not only was that odd, but he had obviously also changed his plans. He frowned up at Junan. "Didn't Duncan want to return to Highever or Denerim to search for another recruit?"

"Yes, I think so." His fellow Warden nodded and tilted his head. "Odd that he got stuck halfway in the Brecilian Forest, of all places, huh?"

"There is something written about a 'tainted mirror' he'd found in a cave, but he doesn't elaborate on that. Only that a Dalish hunter from a nearby clan got in contact with it." Alistair’s frown deepened. "Huh, didn't know that mirrors could contain the taint. Or any other random object, for that matter. Is this going to be a thing now?" He grimaced. "Please say no."

Junan heaved his shoulders in a shrug. His massive armor creaked with the motion. "In all my years of being a Warden, I have never heard of such a thing. Must be Tevinter then, because, you know, all the bad shit originates from there."

"At least that is what the Chantry tells us," Alistair remarked offhandedly, his tone wry.

He grinned at him. "Well, you tell me. After all, you are the expert here, templar boy."

"Ugh, don't remind me. Six months later and I can still sometimes hear the Grand Cleric yelling in my ear. To this day, I still wonder how Duncan and I left her study in one piece." He focused back on the letter. "It also says that we should prepare the Joining, so it can start almost immediately after their return." Stopping his eyes wandered over the last written part again. "Wait…  _their_ return? Does that mean..."

"... the third recruit is Dalish?" Junan finished in his stead. "Yes, though if the mirror was indeed tainted and the hunter came in contact with it-"

"... then he is already tainted?" It would explain why Duncan wanted to conduct the Joining right away. "How can the hunter survive the entire way back?"

He snorted. "How the fuck should I know, Junior? I'm not exactly what you would call an expert regarding the Dalish. Though if the hunter arrives here, still standing on two feet after the forced march back, I say he has a good chance..." Leaning in, he lowered his voice. "... to also survive the Joining."

"Yeah..." Alistair uttered, lost in thought. The memory of his own Joining was still very fresh and vivid in his mind, and it wasn't something he relished remembering. Sure, it did mark the beginning of his new life, complete with freedom from the Chantry, yet he would have gladly missed watching how one of the recruits choked to death upon drinking the darkspawn blood. Maybe the Dalish would be luckier. After all, if the hunter could survive days of forced marching while being tainted, it meant he possessed a great deal of willpower and constitution. "I guess you are right."

"Of course I am." His bellowing laugh nearly got swallowed by the increasing noise of the people scurrying around them. Suddenly, the wind picked up, causing Alistair to shiver with its briskness. It howled in between the brittle stone and added to the overall volume of the area. "As for the Joining, Warden Constable Gable is dealing with the preparations. As soon as he's pulled the stick out of his ass far enough to be able to walk over to the mage encampment, that is. You know how he is." Junan shuddered, though the wind nor cold were the cause.

Right, that man was even more by-the-book than the most pious people back at the monastery. Nor had he any inkling what the word humor even meant. Needless to say, he and Alistair didn't exactly... get along well. All the more a reason to hope for Duncan's swift return, then. "At least you didn't try to argue or joke with him. Maker, I really thought he would wiggle his finger and turn me in a toad when I talked back to him yesterday."

Junan made a face. "Bad idea, Junior. Unless you like hours-long lectures about duty."

"Yeah, I already had ten years of that before the Wardens. So, no, thanks."

"Right." Junan shuffled on his feet, seeming eager to get moving. "Wanna go back to our camp and grab a bite to eat, then?"

Alistair hesitated, uncertain if he wanted to return there just yet. Then again, the king's troops’ midday drill had just started not far from him,  filling his respite with the noisy sound of clatter of armor and shouts. "Okay. What about… him, though?" He asked and pointed at Daveth.

"Eh, he can get his own food, as soon he is done… doing his thing." Huffing, he leaned in toward Alistair with a slight grin. "I have the feeling that if the Joining doesn't kill him, one of the women here will, for sure."

"That's… reassuring," Alistair quipped and stood up to roll his shoulders. He disliked the faint strain in his muscles and only hoped it wouldn't develop into a full ache later on. Remembering he still held the letter in his hands, he folded it and offered it back to his fellow Warden.

"Ah, no, keep it, Junior." When Alistair was ready to leave, Junan turned to him, chuckling. "I took it when Gable wasn't looking."

"Greeeaaat," he drawled in a sarcastic tone, steering toward their enclosed camp in the southern area of Ostagar with Junan in tow. "Whatever could go wrong with that, I wonder? Just so you know, if he tries to turn me into a toad for this, I'll duck and cover _behind_ you."

 

 

***

 

It took four more days to hear word of Duncan again. A scout had sighted him and the recruit at the outer perimeter of the Wilds, which meant he would arrive in an hour or two.

"That is good news, indeed. And about time as well, since I can feel the darkspawn closing in." Standing straight, Gable nodded sternly at the even smaller elf in front of him. "Tell the mages to prepare for the Joining. I will aid them in their task as soon as I am able."

The scout, a spindly archer, gaped at the Warden Constable for a brief moment before backing away. "R-right away, ser."

Then, Gable's gaze fell on Alistair, and he felt like shrinking under his hard stare. What the lanky elven mage lacked in height and stature he certainly evened out tenfold with his authoritative demeanor. "Alistair, go inform the king's encampment of the Commander's impending return."

"Now?" He asked, despite knowing better, and pointed to his plate filled with food. Suddenly, the popping and crackle of the campfire nearby became very loud in his ears. His fellow Wardens had stopped their chatter and instead stared at him. Everyone knew it was better not to argue with Gable, but his growling, empty stomach had momentarily overruled Alistair's sense of duty. And his sense of danger, for that matter. "Can I finish eating, at least?"

Narrowing his eyes at him, Gable made a tiny, annoyed sound at the back of his throat. "Did I not make myself clear enough?"

Right, so much for breakfast. Letting his fork clatter on the plate, Alistair stood up and put the food down. "Fine. But my breakfast better still be there when I return. I get so cranky when I am hungry, and you won't like me then."

Gable's groan made apparent that he didn't like him either way, but he tried to ignore this fact. Like the one that he'd have come face to face with Cailan to deliver the message, which was generally something he tried to avoid. Someone might get a wrong idea when seeing them side by side - or rather, the unfortunate _right_ one. Despite being glad about hearing of Duncan's return, the prospect of meeting his estranged… What? Brother? Half-brother? … Managed to sour his mood nonetheless.

 _No_. Alistair shook his head as he walked past the large sickbay, too occupied with his thoughts to notice the pained ramblings of the soldiers there. The term 'brother' was reserved for his fellow Wardens, because they were his family and cared for him, despite having known him for only half a year. Cailan, however, did not, nor did Alistair expect him to. There was no need to complicate matters by stepping into the king's life now. Being a Warden was what Alistair wanted, had chosen and was actually good at. Duncan said he was worthy of it joining the order, and that was all that mattered. For the first time in his life, he felt as if he belonged somewhere, and he was finally able to make his peace with the past and his heritage.

Turning the corner, he decided to take the longer way, past the ash warriors and the Mabari kennels. Alistair knew it would do little to postpone the inevitable, yet found himself adapting a slower pace. He wrinkled his nose as the wind turned and the reek of wet dog lashed out at him. As a Fereldan, he was not supposed to be bothered by it, but it also brought up childhood memories he wasn't exactly fond of. Despite his intention to dawdle, he walked faster again to pass the kennels and the memories associated with them. In the center area, a priestess held an impromptu mass for a group of soldiers. Jory was among them. Recognizing Alistair, the stout man waved to him, and he acknowledged the Warden recruit with a nod and a wan smile.

He wasn't exactly distant to him or Daveth, and had even trained with both many times over the past weeks, listened to their stories at the camp fire. It was his task as the junior member of the order to take care of them, yet was there a difference between them and his fellow Wardens. Maybe this was because Alistair had known them just for a few weeks, or perhaps this difference existed because they might still… die. He didn't want to think about that, or the impending battle against a massive darkspawn horde. Both would become inevitable in a short while, however.

Just as him arriving at the king's tent was. Stopping in front of it, Alistair gaped at its size. A garish mix of gold and crimson - the colors of the family regnant - it was at least five times larger than than his own. On its entrance, two deep red Mabaris facing each other were embroidered into the closed tent flaps. Alistair recognized the symbols as part of Ferelden's coat of arms. He was surprised to notice the absence of the otherwise omnipresent guard in front of it. Inwardly, he sighed. So much for relaying the message to someone else.

He wasn't quite sure how to proceed - nor if he even wanted to. No, that he didn't want to _was_ quite apparent, but still - what to do now? He couldn't just waltz in there, and neither could one just… knock on a tent. He shuffled on his feet and had to force himself to not turn around and run the other way. This had been a bad, _baaad_ idea from the start. The tent flap opened before Alistair could sink further into his misery. Steel blue eyes belonging to the Teyrn fixed on him as soon Loghain had stepped out of the tent.

"What do you want?" His voice was gruff, and its sharpness nearly made him jump.

Alistair cleared his throat in an attempt to reign in his nerves and swallowed audibly. The insides of his mouth had turned dry as dust. "I… came to deliver a message." Loghain showed no reaction. His presence loomed large, and it wasn't due to the massive silverite armor he wore. In another situation, Alistair would have been delighted to meet the Hero of River Dane, of all people, but now it only felt… intimidating.

Loghain continued to stare him down for another, torturous moment, before his assessing eyes narrowed. "You are that Warden, right?"

 _What, did my uniform give me away?_ Since he liked to be alive, Alistair bit his tongue to keep this quip from escaping. "Yes...?" he only said instead, unsure.

The Teyrn tilted his head, glowering. "Whatever business could _you_ have with the King? Haven't your order done enough already, putting these idle fantasies into the King's head?"

Alistair was at a loss for words, which didn't happen often. Shocked to be yelled at for no reason, he only gaped dumbly at the man.

"Now, now, Loghain. No need to be rude." Cailan's blond head appeared between the tent's flaps. "My father didn't allow the Wardens back into Ferelden so that you could yell at them. They are here at my behest and are to be seen as equal to the crown for the battle."

"As you wish, Your Majesty," Loghain sighed. Every bit of his posture said that he was loathe to back down. It was no surprise, then, when he turned a final time before walking away with his guard in tow. "But perhaps you are putting too much faith in these Wardens, Your Majesty."

Cailan didn't reply and waited until Loghain was out of sight. His attention shifted over to Alistair, and his open and friendly expression brightened further. "Ho there, friend." Alistair winced at being addressed by… him. "Come on in."

Blinking blankly at the king, he mentally spurred himself into replying. "Oh, no. No. That won't be necessary, er, Your Majesty."

Hearing that, Cailan stepped out of his tent and closer to him. He was half a head shorter than himself and paler, Alistair distantly noted. The king smiled and made a polite but assertive sweeping motion toward the tent. "I insist, Warden. I heard you have a message for me. Such things are better not to be discussed out here in the open."

Well, shit. Even if he wanted to, he couldn't just turn and bolt from the literal King of Ferelden. And if he did, Gable would kill him with a snap of his fingers for failing to follow his orders. Twitchy, angry mages? Never good. Feeling like he was being thrown into a hungry horde of darkspawn without a weapon, Alistair ducked into the tent with the King following suit. His… half-brother. He tried really hard not to think about that fact and failed in the attempt.

Cailan gently pushed past him while he busied himself marveling at the sheer space and luxury the insides of his tent provided. It was probably not comparable to the King's palace in Denerim, he imagined, but it had a high pallet draped in satin and fur coverlets, and some carved, wooden furniture. Flowing, light silk drapes and heraldry in the royal colors adorned the thin walls and ceiling and somehow stayed in place there. Carefully rolled maps and parchments were stored at the far end of the tent, while a few were still strewn about on the table in its center.

The creaking of armor snapped Alistair back to attention. Cailan rolled his shoulders and grimaced. "Maker, how do you wear this heavy armor all day, Warden?"

He shuffled on his feet, flustered. "I'm… used to it, Your Majesty. Years of training and all that."

"Ah." The King smiled. "But of course. The Wardens recruit only the best, so that makes sense." Walking over to the small shelf serving as a cabinet, he uncorked a crystalline decanter and gave it a whiff before filling his glass half-full with red wine. "I'm aware appearance matters greatly as a king, for it raises morale in camp. Which is why I have to wear this blasted armor all day." He turned, motioning for Alistair to sit down in an upholstered chair in the corner.

"I… um, would remain standing, if that is, er, okay… Your Majesty." Unlike his own cramped tent, Cailan's was spacious enough in height that he actually could stand comfortably here.

"Suit yourself.” Shrugging a bit, Cailan plopped himself down on his lavish bed and took a sip of his wine. He relaxed his posture, as far as his heavy, golden-plated armor allowed him to do so. With a sigh, he released the remaining tension within and looked up at him. "What is your name, Warden?"

He blinked, but remembered to answer him shortly after. "... Alistair, Your Majesty."

"Alistair, huh?" The King mused over that for a moment and made an odd sound at the back of his throat. "A good name. A strong name. Besides… Cailan is enough within these walls. Thin as they may be."

"I..." Alistair felt dread sinking into his stomach, leaden like iron. Maker's breath, the King _knew_ who he was. There was no doubt left now. And how could he not? Looking at Cailan was like looking in a mirror and seeing a blonder, paler version of himself. "I'm expected to report back soon," he managed. A white lie, though much better than giving into the strong impulse to storm out of here and run into the Korcari Wilds, never to return.

"Hmm," Cailan hummed, swirling the contents of his glass around. "I see. I won't keep you long then, Alistair." His eyes meet his own and locked on, deep blue contrasting with hazel. The corners of his mouth twitched. "But you still haven't told me the message you’re meant to deliver, you know?"

"Right." Alistair let out a breath and pressed his hands to his sides to stop them from shaking. "Duncan, our Warden Commander, has been sighted in the outer bounds of the Korcari Wilds. He is expected to return to Ostagar in about an hour or two."

Cailan laughed brightly. "Oh, these are fantastic news indeed. So we can fight side by side in the battle tomorrow, after all. Glorious. I was beginning to worry he'd miss out on all the fun."

"Fun?" Alistair's eyebrows shot up. He'd only faced darkspawn once so far, and there was _nothing_ fun about that.

"Oh, you must think me a fool, Alistair," he said, equally good-natured, shaking his head. "But I truly believe we can stop the darkspawn here once and for all." He smiled at him. "Together."

Alistair forced himself to smile back, yet felt his eyebrows creasing to a frown. No, fool would be too harsh a word to describe his notion. A bit _too_ optimistic, perhaps. Maker knew they would need Loghain's tactical expertise to make a difference in the battle. "No, I don't think you are, er, sire. C-cailan. Fun is just the last very thing that comes to my mind regarding darkspawn and a possible Blight."

"I'm not even sure if this is a true Blight at all. There are plenty darkspawn in the field, but, alas, there have been no signs of an archdemon so far."

"Yeah, such pity, that," he muttered under his breath and coughed to cover up his words.

"I was simply hoping for a war like in the tales." Cailan sighed, sounding _way_ too enthusiastic about the matter. "A king riding side by side with the fabled Grey Wardens against a tainted god… but I suppose this will have to do."

Alistair's eyebrows jumped up again, as he stared at the king. How was he supposed to react to that? Sarcasm? Honesty? At a loss for… anything, he stayed silent. Well… _most_ of him did, anyway. As the silence stretched between them, his treacherous stomach decided to rumble its protest regarding the severe lack of food so far. Loudly. Great, this wasn't awkward at all.

Cailan chuckled at that. "You haven't eaten yet, Alistair?"

He wanted the Maker to strike him down this instant. "N-no?"

"Then come, stay. I happened to miss out on breakfast too, due to Loghain boring me with his strategy all morning."

"I couldn't possibly-"

"Yes, you can." Standing up, he ducked halfway out of the tent to order his guards to bring two servings of breakfast. _Oh_. Returning, he motioned Alistair to follow him. "Come, sit with me, Alistair. You haven't told me yet if Duncan has managed to find another recruit, or where you got your weapon training from. I am always eager to hear stories of the Grey Wardens."

"I… Fine." Realizing quickly that he had no choice but to comply, Alistair slinked after his in more than one way strange half-brother of a king. Suddenly, getting turned into a toad by Gable seemed _way_ more favorable a prospect than… this.

 

*******

 

 

"Where have you been for so long?"

Alistair had returned to the Warden encampment after the most awkward breakfast of his life only to get yelled at by Gable. This day just kept getting better and better.

 _Dining with the king_ _whilst_ _answering all kind of invasive questions about my life._ Alistair was certain this reply would go over perfectly with the Warden Constable, even if it was the truth. He could practically taste the electric currents Gable was about to shock him with. "The king had quite a few… additional questions," he said instead, settling for a half-truth. "I can hardly deny a royal request, can I?" Ugh, again with the challenging tone. When would he learn _not_ to do that?

Gable's dark eyes glinted with anger, his already thin lips pressed in an even finer line. His sharp intake of air, a preparation to launch the tirade he must have been planning for the entire hour Alistair was gone was interrupted by an elderly woman appearing before him. Alistair blinked at the displaced guest in their midst, but more so at the chantry attire she wore. Long grey hair meticulously tucked into a bun, the woman placed her hands on her hips. With a proud, unyielding poise, her stern gaze focused on Gable. "Are you the one in command here?"

It was rare to see a hard-headed person like Gable falter, least of all struggle for words. Even more rare was to see his behavior mirrored in another. Getting no answer, or not getting one quickly enough for her taste, she whirled around to face Alistair. _Uh-oh._ "You!"

He winced at the force of her voice, suddenly feeling fifteen and back at the chantry again, about to be scolded. Alistair stood up straighter to show confidence that he definitely didn’t feel. "Y-yes?"

"I need you to find Uldred, the mage leader here in Ostagar, and tell him that I require his presence."

His mouth once again ran more quickly than his brain did. "And you can't do this yourself? You need a _Grey Warden_ for this?" As soon the words were spoken aloud, he winced again. One day this would be his undoing, for sure.

Despite being significantly shorter than he was, the woman still had no problem  staring him down. Coming closer, she poked his armored chest, her voice clipped and demanding. "As the Revered Mother, young man, I have no time to spare to run after mages. And the reason he must come see me is in the interest of your order as well. Otherwise, I would have gone to the next servant to see it done."

Alistair backed away from her and nearly tumbled into a tent. Stabilizing himself, he resigned with a sigh. "Fine, Your Reverence." What was it with today and people with titles ordering him around and sending him on errands? "I'll see if I can find him."

"No." The Revered Mother shook her head and glared at him. "You _will_ find him. Not maybe, not if. Ask the mage camp where he is. I'm certain they will provide you with information on his whereabouts." She pushed past the throng of men that had crept closer to the spectacle as it unfolded and left without another look at Alistair or Gable.

Great. Walking into a camp full of mages. After the awkward hour spent with his half-brother, the King, this would be just another highlight in Alistair's day. Well, at least when enduring the most stilted family reunion ever, there had been food, and lots of it. So, if he was going to be killed by the mage leader due to his templar background, he wouldn't have to die on an empty stomach.

At least there was that silver lining.

 

*******

 

Though he never had been there, the mage encampment in Ostagar was easy to find. Alistair simply needed to follow the trail of grim-looking templars and people in garish robes. Finding someone willing to speak to him was another matter, however.

The templars there eyed him as distrustfully as if he were a mage, and the mages looked at him as if they knew of his templar training by appearance alone. They did their best to either ignore or gossip about the displaced visitor in their midst. Alistair had last felt _this_ uncomfortable while dining with his half-brother. He had neither been keen nor expecting to relive this experience so quickly. Then again, discomfort seemed to be his theme for the day. Wonderful. Walking past yet another giggling pair of young women watching him, he saw an elderly woman seated on a log near their campfire. Unlike the Revered Mother, she had no hard edges, and appeared downright… grandmotherly in comparison. Absorbed as she was in the book she was reading, she only noticed his approach when he was nearly standing in front of her.

Blue eyes blinked up at him and her gray eyebrow shot up, amused. "Are you lost, young man? This is not the Warden encampment, in case you have forgotten that."

"Um," Alistair winced, not having been expecting to be _teased_ by her, of all the people here. Maybe she wasn't so grandmotherly, after all.

Putting her book aside and smoothing out the wrinkles of her red robe with her hands, the mage chuckled. "But where are my manners? Can I help you… um?"

"Alistair," he said, relieved to find her more agreeable to speak with him.

"Nice to meet you, Warden." She nodded, a small smile on her lips."My name is Wynne. I am the Senior Enchanter of Ferelden's Circle. What do you need of the mages? If this is about the Joining then..."

"No, no," Alistair rushed to correct her. He let out a shaky breath before continuing to speak. Despite her… mellow appearance, talking to mages always made him nervous. "But I'm searching for a fellow… colleague of yours, I guess?"

"Oh? This is a rather particular request, then. Yet I am certain I will be able to help you."

"I hope so, since the other mages won't stop glaring or… giggling." He cleared his throat, feeling the blush creeping back into his cheeks again. "I need to find Uldred for the Revered Mother. Can you tell me where he is and how he, well, looks?"

"Uldred?" Wynne said flatly, and her smile vanished. "Ah, our ambitious leader, yes." With the way she spoke these words, it sounded far more like disdain than admiration. "He is not present in camp right now, I fear. However, you will most likely find him to the east, up the ramp and into the secluded area of Ostagar, where your order wanted the Joining to be prepared. He is aiding with the last preparations there, as far as I am aware."

Alistair's face brightened. He knew exactly what place she meant and felt eager to get there before the mage could leave there again. "Thank you… Wynne. You saved me a lot of time with that information."

"Not a problem at all, young man." Nodding, her lips curved upwards again, as she added, "as for his appearance, simply keep your eyes peeled for a human man looking astonishingly akin to a rat or a weasel. Just without any fur."

"Err… okay?" While it wasn't his place to comment on the obvious dislike between them, he laughed at that. "Thank you again." With that, he turned and left in the direction Wynne had described.

 

**::::::::**

 

Alistair found Uldred quickly after that, thanks to Wynne's words and colorful description.

Walking up the ramp, the secluded area was larger than he remembered it to be. Sunlight flooded its aged, white stone floor and the tall pillars encasing the place etched their shadows into the ground. The mage had his back turned to him and seemed to be too busy with sorting items on a stone slab to notice him.

However, Alistair was far from being short and thus his large shadow falling onto the mage give his approach away. "What is it now? Haven't the Grey Wardens asked more than enough of the Circle?" His voice was cold, annoyed. Through its nasal tone, it also had a somewhat grating note.

"Huh?" Alistair mused, carefully stepping closer to the man's lean back. "How did you know that I'm a Warden?"

"Because it is _always_ your order that demands more!" As Uldred turned around, he had to confess that Wynne hadn't been exaggerating about his looks earlier. He did share a certain resemblance to said animals, wizened and, well, weaselly, as he looked. However, underneath the hard lines of his scowl was an unmistakable intelligence. More importantly, Alistair's templar-trained senses screamed with the abundance of his magic. He felt a sudden intense flight or fight response and had to mentally will himself to stay in place. Uldred scoffed at his inaction. "Did you simply come up here to stare at me, Warden?"

"No, actually," Alistair put his chin up and felt himself revert back to the familiar pattern of sarcasm. In any given situation, whether humorous or not - _especially_ when not - this was his first weapon of choice. "I came here to deliver a message, ser mage." Uldred raised a thin, questioning eyebrow, waiting for him to elaborate. Alistair hesitated, fully aware of the impact his words would have. He liked being human and not a frog, after all. "The Revered Mother desires your presence."

The effect was almost immediate. Uldred's face twisted in disgust. "What her Reverence 'desires' is no concern of mine. I am busy helping the Grey Wardens — by your order's request, I might add," he yelled into his face before waving him off.

The dismissal annoyed Alistair more than it angered him, causing his tone to grow even more sardonic. "Should I have asked her to write a note?" He asked, knowing full well how challenging it sounded. Alistair idly wondered if he would live to see the end of this day in human form, but a huge defiant part of him simply didn't care.

"Tell her I will not be harassed in this manner."

 _What?_ His eyes narrowed on the man, not backing down from this odd spiral of escalation. It was too late for that, anyway. "Yes, how rude of me. I was harassing you by delivering a message." Behind him, Alistair could hear light-footed steps and became aware of the presence of yet another person being here. Which was odd, too, since this area was normally closed off to servants. For the moment, he was too focused on this stubborn and infuriating mage in front of him to check the person’s identity, however.

"Your glibness does you no credit," Uldred spat, clearly at the fringes of his patience.

"Aww..."  _Maker, Alistair what are you doing?_ a small voice in his head warned him, but still he could not help but rile the mage even more. "... and here I thought we were getting along so well. I was even going to name one of my children after you… the _grumpy_ one."

There was a long-drawn annoyed groan from the person behind him, sounding distinctively… feminine? Before he had time to turn, the mage spoke up again, with finality. "Enough! I will speak to the woman if I must." Uldred darted forward and shoved him aside. "Out of my way, fool!"

And then he was gone, finally giving Alistair a chance to quench his curiosity about the person looming at his back. Silly as it was, he felt victorious about having managed to fulfill this task. The sour-faced mage would now seek out the Revered Mother, despite all his reluctance and stubbornness. A large grin tugged at his lips as he slowly turned around to, well, _her_ , he guessed. "You know one good thing about the Blight is -" Alistair froze, in both words and motion, and _stared_.

The person, an elven woman, stared back at him, equally silent, but also… challenging. There was blood in her long blond hair, Alistair distantly noted. Dark blood that sang to his veins and reeked of taint. Some of it covered her pale, freckled cheeks as well. What had instantly forced him into silence, however, had been her eyes and the way she looked at him. Maker, the color of her eyes must have been the deepest green he'd ever seen. More than that, her gaze was perceptive and keen, and Alistair felt himself shrinking under its sharpness. This woman was no fool, that much was already obvious. Nor a servant, either. That was impossible with the proud, unyielding way she bore herself in front of him, gloved hands held at her sides. Clad in leather armor tinted forest green, two long and curved daggers were belted at her hips. Oh. His gaze flicked to her forehead, recognizing the golden-brown swirling lines of a tattoo underneath the blood.

_Oh._

The recruit. The Dalish… was a woman. Alistair swallowed thickly. Not that he minded, far from it. It was just _so_ not what he'd expected when reading Duncan's letter. She was simply so… little ? Okay, maybe not _that_ little, seeing as her head reached up to his chest. And while she was slender, as elves usually were, she obviously had a toned… figure, which spoke of regular training. Maker's breath, did he really stare at her figure just now? She must think him a drooling lecher. He mentally kicked himself into action to end this weird… impasse. "- how it brings people together," was all he managed, however, before falling silent again.

Her eyes narrowed, and she started to _glare_ instead of stare at him. It made him want to run away, dig a hole and never come out again. Without breaking eye contact, she wiped impatiently at the sweat and blood on her forehead with the back of her hand, only to spread its smear further. She let out an annoyed sigh and swayed a little on her feet. She was also breathing audibly now, a harsh rhythm of in- and outtakes of air.

He suddenly remembered what Duncan had written about the Dalish hunter already being tainted and felt like kicking himself. _Again_. The blood on her body wasn't what sang to him, it was the blood _in_ her body that did. He could feel her taint and it was jarring… To say the least. He took a step toward to her. "Are you -"

"Are you an idiot?" She cut into his words and passed out right after.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Change Notes:
> 
> Um, everything? This is a complete newly written chapter from the scratch, shifting the focus away from Lenya and toward Ostagar, because this is where the plot takes place, after all. Also I wanted to write the first chapter from Alistair's pov since ages and thus I seized the chance for a(n already) more solid characterization than what I did in the starting chapters of the original. The next chapter will be (mainly) told from Lenya's pov, so we will finally get to know her better ;) 
> 
> Kudos, and especially comments are most appreciated.


	2. Tainted

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alistair is left to deal with an unconscious, feverish dalish woman, who also happens to be the third and final warden recruit. Aid is obviously needed and up to him to find it. Later then, when Lenya wakes up, she finds herself in the world outside of her clan....and has the worst possible time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Small change of plan regarding the content: Since the chapter became too long, we are going to see the Wilds and Joining etc in the next one, which will also be the last one in the Ostagar arc. At last.

Alistair often had heard the tale of women swooning at men's feet, even imagined how this would be if it'd happen to him. This, however, was _not_ it.

Catching the Dalish before she could hit the ground, he now stood helpless and alone in the most secluded part of Ostagar. With a woman half-propped in his arms who had called him an idiot just before passing out.

This day kept on giving its all to ensure he had the _worst_ time whenever possible.

"Um..." He looked down to her and noticed how heated her face looked. Underneath the grime and blood, her cheeks had adapted an unnatural redness that indicated fever. Come to think of it, it was a downright miracle that she'd survived so long as she did. And that with no visible changes caused by the taint whatsoever as well. What an odd...mysterious woman. Alistair shook his head, let out a self-depreciating snort at the new mess he found himself in. However, before he could wallow in the misery his day had continued to be, he needed to find help for her; a healer perhaps. It was his job to take care of the warden recruits after all, though this was by far not what he'd imagined under 'taking care'.

Trying not to think too much about it, he heaved her up into his arms and secured her there. Slowly, he walked down the ramp, putting one gauntleted hand under her knees and used his other to cradle and stabilize her head and neck. He was surprised at how...light she was, but still walking with another person in his arms was all but easy. Especially since, once he had returned to the livelier part of Ostagar again, he nearly ran into Benson, of all people.

His fellow Warden stared at him, then at the elven woman in his arms, and back at him. He showed him a toothy grin. "Oh my, look at you... quite the womanizer after all. No wonder you didn't want to spend the night in the Pearl, then."

"Benson, quit the crap," Alistair snapped at the burly man. "Instead make yourself useful and go to the mage encampment. Find help. There is an elder mage named Wynne..." He trailed off as his fellow Warden stepped closer to look at the woman in his arms.

"Who is she?"

"This is the Dalish, the third recruit. She is-"

Benson's ginger mustache twitched as he pursed his lips. "...tainted." So he felt it too. Of course he did. At least this let him cease his stupid comments and instead spurred him into action. "Wynne, you said, Junior?" Alistair only nodded numbly and watched him leave, keenly aware of standing amidst Ostagar's main area.

It didn't took long until someone patted him on the shoulder. Alistair slowly turned around. It was the quartermaster, who provided the king's troops with supplies. "What is wrong with her? Did you overwork her? Servants need rest too, you know?"

"Excuse me?" Alistair felt himself getting worked up on her behalf. How could someone mistake her for a servant, clad in armor and bloodied as she was? Just because of her pointed ears? He glared at the man for the audacity. "She is a warden recruit, who just came back with Duncan. She must have strained herself too much during the journey, or otherwise she wouldn't have fainted."

"Oh." At least the bald, stocky man had the grace to look ashamed. "My mistake, then."

"Yes," Alistair pressed out between gritted teeth. " _Your_ mistake, indeed."

"Look, I don't want trouble, especially not with your order," the man said, wringing his hands. "So why don't you come with me? You can put her down on my cot, since she...must get heavy?"

This sounded like an offer between genuine and dubious. Besides, he was way much more afraid of tripping and dropping her than of his arms getting tired. She still was perfectly light to him. Huh, who would have thought that carrying around a gigantic silverite kite shield just about everywhere for years had such useful side-effects? But he was getting side-tracked with trivialities, far more important was it that he got her out the line of all these curious stares until aid would arrive. Hopefully soon.

And so he followed the man who more slinked than walked back to his merchant stall close by. The place was still open, but on the side of the main area and therefore offered a bit more privacy. The quartermaster hurried to shuffle a disorderly pile of flasks and documents to the side and made a waving motion toward him. "Put her down...here."

Cautiously, Alistair lay the Dalish down on the thin, rough cot next to the wooden cart. From his expression twisting in disgust, he could see the man already was regretted his generosity. "Wait? Is this...blood?"

Alistair only shrugged a little. "Probably? The Commander and her must have run into darkspawn on their way back, I guess."

His eyes went wide and he shuddered. "The elf...fought darkspawn, and lived?"

He couldn't help but smile at that. "Well, she is a warden recruit, after all."

"Right," the quartermaster breathed out. "Sorry about that, by the way. I'm just a bit on the edge, with the impending battle and all. And I have sent a worker on an errand hours ago and the damn elf still hasn't returned."

"Maybe you should have treated your worker better, then," Alistair scoffed under his breath, and took off his gauntlets one by one. With a mental note to retrieve them before the man could claim and sell his gear as his own, he put them down next to the cot. Leaning over, he reached out to touch her forehand, but yanked his hand back in the last moment. Alistair inhaled shakily, trying to calm himself in reminding himself how he did nothing wrong. It was just to check to check her temperature, after all. Trying anew, he found her skin burning to his touch, causing him to frown. Damn, he could only hope that Benson would return soon with the mage. What took them so long anyway?

Alistair turned around to the man, who helplessly hovered at his back. "Do you have any herbs?"

"Herbs?" He blinked. "Yes, all sorts, actually. A group of soldiers brought me back a fresh batch from the Wilds. What do you need?"

"Well..." Alistair trailed off, unsure. He knew of elfroot and their healing properties of course, but beyond that he'd never paid much attention to the botanic lessons in the Chantry. It hadn't been the most _thrilling_ topic for his teenager mind back then, to put it mildly. Now he regretted his inattention to the topic, since he didn't want ending up poisoning her. "Um, if you have a _clean_..." he stressed this word."...cloth and some cold water, that should be enough too."

The stocky human nodded and briefly vanished to retrieve the desired items. Alistair looked down at the blond Dalish once again and frowned. More than her fever even, he was worried about the fact that she was still unconscious, unmoving. To calm himself he reached out to feel her pulse point, finding it thrumming in a quick but steady rhythm underneath his fingertips.

"Here..." Startled at the sudden voice, Alistair yanked his hand back, as though being caught doing something naughty. Trying to curb the blush which spread across his face at that, he took the cloth and wooden bucket from the man.

He cleared his throat. "Thank you." Dunking the cloth into the water, Alistair began to tentatively wash the dark blood from her face. Maybe he shouldn't do this, since it seemed far too invasive being so close to her unconscious form. Yet he couldn't also not do nothing until help would arrive. It just never sat well with him, seeing others in pain or need. Alistair also hoped the stark contrast between her heated skin and the cool water would cause her to stir eventually. But the Dalish remained still and sleeping, even as the water in the bucket had turned black and her face was clean again. Or cleaner, at least. Putting the bucket down, he breathed out, his gaze resting on her forehead a moment longer than maybe needed. With the blood no longer covering the skin there, he could see her whole tattoo. To him, its swirling, intertwined and dark lines looked a bit like...horns? Huh, curious. He wondered what the meaning of --

"There you are!" Hearing Benson's voice, Alistair startled up, feeling once more like a guilty child.

Of course his fellow Warden noticed that and bestowed him with a knowing grin and look. "Already growing fond of the girl, eh? The Commander won't like that, Junior."

"I'm not..." Alistair protested, though the elder mage -Wynne- pushing past him interrupted any further words.

"Take your childish quarrel elsewhere, you both," she bit out, before leaning over the elven woman.

"A-aye, ma'am," Benson said, casting his blue eyes downward. Then he leaned in to Alistair and mouthed much quieter. "She is a healer, so your girl should be fine."

Alistair’s blush seared through his cheeks and for a minute he thought his face was on fire. "She is not..." he stopped with a sigh and added in a lower, sharper voice," You are doing this on purpose, aren't you?"

Benson only gave him a casual shrug. "Hey, I wouldn't mind calling her my fellow Warden. There aren't exactly many women around in our order right now, in case you haven't noticed."

He rolled his eyes at him. "Yeah, I _bet_ you would like that."

"Eh, the elven gal seems a bit too young for me though. She is..." He grinned at him. "...much more your age."

"Ugh, you are the worst."

Benson's grin widened. "Yeah, love ya too, Junior."

"Quiet!" Wynne groused, causing Alistair and Benson to whip round to her. "I need to concentrate."

Suddenly the air prickled on his skin, letting his fine hair stand on end. It was the telltale sign of magic being used. Well this and the pale blue light which bloomed around the mage's hands, of course.

"M-magic, you are using magic?" The quartermaster asked, fear in his voice.

Benson scratched his head, ruffling up a few ginger strands of his long, tied back hair. "Maybe we better should take her to our camp instead?"

"I need to lower her fever first," Wynne told him, pointedly ignoring the other man. "You were right for seeking me out. She is...very ill."

Unbidden, Alistair felt his stomach twisting into way too many knots. "I know. I...felt it. The taint, I mean."

"Yes, I heard of you Wardens being able to do that." Tilting her head, she hummed quietly, while her magic flared up again. For a long moment, she remained silent, as she concentrated on her task. Then, breathing out, Wynne shook her head. "So young, still. I take it that she is Duncan's newest recruit?"

Alistair nodded. "Yes."

"I see. Now I understand his reason for rushing as much as he did to reach Ostagar. Considering how sick she is, it is a miracle she's survived the journey at all. Still..." she clucked her tongue in a disapproving manner. "I might need to have a word with your Commander, since her fever wasn't caused by her sickness alone. It was simply careless to push her so far so quickly in this condition, despite his good intentions." Another wave of healing magic disappeared into the Dalish's body through her hands, before it slowly fizzled out.

"Will she be okay?" Benson asked out loud what Alistair thought, surprisingly so. "I mean, at least for now?"

Wynne wiped her brows with the sleeve of her red robe and sighed out. "Yes. I managed to lower her fever, but I fear it won't last."

Alistair and Benson shared a look, both well aware how there was now just one thing which could save, or ultimately kill her- the Joining. Not really the brightest prospect of all, though this was valid for Daveth and Jory as well. "There is a way," Alistair said, aware of not being able to speak freely. " to, um, _cure_ her of this sickness. You know what I mean, I think." At least he hoped she would, seeing she had spoken of the Joining before and knew of it, in a general sense.

"Ah yes." Recognition dawned in her pale, mellow face. "Then it better happens sooner than later. Let's get her into my tent for the moment, so I can keep an eye on her condition." Standing up and stretching her back, Wynne noticed their hesitance to move. "Well, she can hardly stay here, can she? Unless there is a tent already prepared for her in your camp, and you know which it is, of course?"

His fellow Warden smirked at him. "Maybe give her yours then, Alistair?"

He ignored his comment. "Duncan would know, but I have no idea where he is right now. So, err, your tent, then?"

"Good." The mage agreed, and her lips twitched with amusement when Alistair missed to move toward her right after. "What are you waiting for then, young man? You don't expect me to carry her there, or?"

He blinked, staring blankly at the sleeping woman on the cot, then back at Wynne. "Err, no?"

"Want _me_ to carry her, Junior?"

"No!" He straightened, wiping his hands on the sides of his armor to quell his nerves. "But could you take, um, my gauntlets back to camp, lest the quartermaster sells them for profit. I really don't need any darkspawn gnawing on my unprotected hands. Or worse, have Gable yell at me for not taking care of my equipment."

"Pfft, as if I would do that, Warden," the man retorted in a tone that revealed how he totally would.

"Sure thing, Junior." Benson did as he was told, though of course not without letting a remark follow. "Just remember that you owe me one for all the favors I have done for you today."

"Right...as long it isn't dancing the Remigold..." Alistair muttered, more to himself than meant as a real reply. Stepping toward the cot where the Dalish lay, he bend down to pick her up. Securing her in his arms, he tried to concentrate on the way ahead and following Wynne instead of the warmth of her underneath his bare hands.

 

*******

 

_Nervously pacing up and down for what felt hours, Lenya finally saw the door of Marethari's Aravel opening, and her keeper and the warden shemlen stepped outside. Finally. After too long, their talk in private had ended. She rushed to their side, anxious about what they are going to say._

_"Your Keeper and I have spoken and we've come to an arrangement that concerns you," the warden shem -Duncan- announced with a stern nod. "My order is in need of help. You are in need of a cure. When I leave here, I hope you will join me. You would make an excellent Grey Warden."_

_"What?" Dread washed over her like an icy downpour upon these words, numbing her limbs as her throat tightened. Tamlen...he...-- and now she would be send away too? No. She would not accept this. Her teeth locked tight together, she glared up to this shemlen who dared such audacity. "No!" Lenya gritted out, and the gloved hands at her side balled to fists. "I refuse to be send away with this shem! My place is with the clan!"_

_"I cannot express my sadness at sending one of our daughters off into such danger, away from the clan that loves her." Tears began to form in Marethari's eyes and she tried to embrace her, but Lenya ducked away, couldn't stand the contact._

_"Do not coddle me as if I am three years old." Glowering, Lenya blinked angry tears away. "This is serious!"_

_"Yes, da'len, it is." The Keeper nodded calmly at her outburst, which only made her angrier. "Since your life is in danger if you stay, but so is **all** our lives. A great army of darkspawn gathers in the south and a new Blight threatens the land. We cannot outrun this storm," she told her in the same infuriating calm tone," If being a Grey Warden is what the Creators intend for you, da'len, meet your destiny with your head held high. No matter where you go, you are Dalish. Never forget that."_

_"No, I want to rather die than to leave!" Lenya was faintly aware of clinging at her keeper's arm and how the plaintive tone in her voice that sounded far too much like whining. But the panic about losing the one and only home she'd ever known rising inside, let her forget all of her usual pride. "My clan is all I know! Keeper, don't send me away, I beg you!" She couldn't lose them too. Not after all that happened._

_Marethari looked at her with tears in her eyes, seemed to hesitate in her insistence. But only a moment later, her expression hardened again as she turned to the shem, nodding. "Do what you must, Duncan."_

_The shem let out a sorrowful sigh, which was nearly lost to the pounding of her heart in her ears. "I hereby invoke the Right of Conscription."_

_"And I, as the Keeper of this clan, acknowledge this Right."_

_"Nooo! Ar din'him sa dorf'len! Ar din'isala ven shem'alas!" Her knees buckled under her weight and she crashed to the leafed, muddied forest ground. No longer caring to uphold any kind of pretense, Lenya let her head fall into her hands, and sobbed._

Crying out, Lenya lurched to wakefulness, jostled and disoriented. The first thing she noticed was a warm, mellow hand touching her forehead. "Shht, it is alright, child," a soft voice said next to her, brushing through her hair.

"A-ashalle?" she croaked, her voice rough. Blinking her surroundings into sight, Lenya found herself staring at the dark and thin canvas ceiling of a tent. Memories of what happened and where she was came into her focus next, as much as she wished it wouldn't. Her desperate attempts to escape this warden shem and run back to her clan had led her here after all. Ostagar. Fighting a shemlen war.

Finding herself lying on some kind of bedding, she sat up and threw the blanket away from herself. The motion of it was too quickly, causing her head to spin. Groaning out, she touched her forehead, to ground and give herself some semblance of stability. It didn't help much, other than making her aware of the wetness around her eyes.

"Easy there, young lady." There was this voice again, reminding her that she wasn't alone.

Hastily, Lenya wiped at the tears and glared at to the person sitting next to her. No, this wasn't Ashalle. Of course not. She was gone, like the rest of her clan. They left her behind to flee what the Keeper called the Blight, and sent her on her way with this damn shem promising a cure for her sickness. The thought lurched her stomach, twisted it in too many knots. She was caught here now, with no way to escape. Feeling new tears pricking hotly at the corner of her eyes, Lenya glanced away from the strange elder woman watching her in silence. As she buried her face within her hands to hide them, she felt the woman's hand brushing over her tousled, long hair again.

Lenya flinched away from her touch. " I don't need your pity, shem!"

"Good," she replied, a smile in her voice. "For I have none to give."

That made her look up to her again, the reply most unexpected. She noticed that the gray-haired shem woman was dressed in a red, form-fitting robe. A mage, perhaps? It would explain the thrum of magic, of the Beyond's pull she faintly felt around herself. Lenya's gaze hardened upon her. "What are you doing here in my tent?"

"Well, but you are in _my_ tent, my dear." Turning to stand up, the mage left the tent, and returned with a cup in her hands just moments later. "Here, drink this. You must be parched and this will help you to get on your feet again." Lenya eyed the proffered large cup with distrust, and did not take it from her.

"Maker, child. I didn't heal you only to poison you again with a brew." The shem clucked her tongue. "Do you really think I would stoop so low?"

"Yes. I do not know you, in fact." _Shems are not to be trusted_ , her mind added, almost immediately.

"Well, my name is Wynne, and I looked after you for the past hours. I am glad to see you waking up and in good spirits again, given your...condition." She frowned, which lay her pale forehead into even more wrinkles. "You were very sick and burning up when your fellow Warden brought you here. I was able to lower your temperature with my magic, but it won't last for long."

"My...what?" Lenya faintly remembered the odd, talkative shemlen she set out to find here in Ostagar. If only to finally get away from the man who took her from her clan against her will.

The mage flicked her hand and Lenya felt the tinge of magic prickling on her skin, as the content in the cup started to steam. "Here, drink. You need it."

"Fine," she gave in with a sigh and took it. Holding it close in her hands without drinking, the bittersweet scent of elfroot wafted into her nose. "Ugh."

"It is a medicinal herb tea I brewed after you got here," Wynne explained, unbidden," I have only warmed it up for you again, since it is more digestible for your nervous stomach, this way."

"I know," she mumbled in reply, blowing on the hot liquid to cool it down. _Ashalle used to make it for me when I was –_ she stopped the thought, forced herself to. With a heavy heart, she slowly started drinking, taking small sips. Lenya hated and yearned for the familiarity of this beverage alike; caught between wanting to savor it, or to fling the cup with its content against the canvas wall. For a moment, the warmth of it gave her a sense of calm, however fleeting it was.

"I spoke with Duncan, your commander-"

"This shem is not my anything!" Lenya harshly cut into her words, putting the now emptied wooden cup down.

"I see," the human hummed, seemed to deliberate on her next words. She sat down next to her on the ground and folded her hands in her lap. "I heard you aren't here out of your free will and that your sickness is the reason. Even then you tried to escape him and run back to your clan several times." The thin lines of her mouth curved upwards and amusement weaved into her words. "Impressive how you made the Warden Commander work for bringing you here." She only stared at the mage, unable to discern what she wanted to achieve with it. "However, the extra strain put on your ill body wasn't beneficial for your health and also a factor for you passing out not long ago. You remember that, don't you?"

 _Ah._ "Why do you even care, shem?"

"Because I was the one healing you, young lady." She let out a sigh. "I understand you are a long way from home, from your people but even so, you have to take better care of yourself. If not for me or the Wardens, do it for the people you care about."

"They are all gone now..." Lenya said under her breath, her voice barely more than a whisper. Swallowing thickly, she blinked the tears away and felt her anger rising. No, she wouldn't cry anymore, not in front of _them_ , ever. She was Dalish and proud to be. If not that, what was left for her then? _Never again shall_ _shall we submit._ She couldn't show them even an inkling of weakness. "Stop meddling and prodding, human. It is none of your business."

"Maybe I am meddling," the mage shemlen admitted with a nonchalant shrug and chuckled. "Isn't that what old people such as myself do?" Lenya only made an annoyed sound in the back of her throat. What was the deal with this human? "To be honest," she continued, "I'd rather be in the tower now than participating in the war, but sometimes we don't have a choice and do what we must do. Maybe joining the Wardens is a new chance for you, even if it is an unwanted one." Her head tilted and she looked at her intently. "And this will certainly be the one which saves your life. So it is worth a try at least, is it not?"

Ah yes, the supposed cure for her sickness that warden shem promised and dragged her here for to Ostagar against her will. For a good amount of the distance traveled he did so in quite the literal sense, even. Especially after her various escape attempts, after which he had her bound and thrown over his horse like luggage. Her expression shifted to a scowl. "It wasn't my choice, I want nothing of it."

"And yet you are here," the mage simply stated. "What does this make you then?"

The question threw her for a loop, came most unexpected. Instead to reply, Lenya rushed to her feet, her patience spent. "Can I go now?" Why was she even _asking_ for permission? " _I'm_ going now," she quickly corrected herself.

Wynne bestowed her with a knowing look, frustratingly so. "Oh, certainly, my dear."

"Ugh." Before she stormed out of the tent however, Lenya noticed the lack of her weapon belt around her hips and whirled around, furious. "Where are my belongings? My weapons? You took them away!"

"I did nothing of this sort, young lady. Your fellow Warden took them for safekeeping, as he went back to the Warden encampment. You will most likely find him and your belongings there, in the southern part of Ostagar."

This thieving _shem'alas,_ how could he dare to touch them? More so, take them away from her? Lenya balled her hands to fists at her side. Not answering, she rushed out of the tent and with quick angry steps toward the encampment of the Wardens.

 

***

 

Sitting in front of his own tent, Alistair eyed the two slightly curved blades sheathed in the belt lying on his lap. The dark brown leather sheaths of the blades were sturdy and ornamented with fine, intertwined lines of leafs and vines. Fitting for the weapons of a Dalish, he supposed. What really did catch his eyes had been a smaller dagger in a plain leather sheath however. Taking it out of it to still his curiosity, he noted a similar curved blade and the intricate, foreign carvings at its hilt. However, the dagger itself was old and worn, the blade blunt and scratched. To him it made no sense as to why someone would want to carry it around in this state, since it couldn't be used for anything.

"Oy, went under the rogues after all, did ya?"

The sudden voice let his head snap back up, bringing Daveth into the focus of his vision. Feeling caught, Alistair hid the blade within his lap. "I can assure you, the only way I will ever be a roguish sneaky type and do what you guys do will be running headlong into every trap possible. And thus disarming them for everybody else."

"Hmm, sounds painful." He laughed out. "So ya better not, mate."

"I don't plan to, believe me. I like it much better to use my shield to bash darkspawn in the head. Or to hide behind it."

"So whadda ya doing with these weapons then?" Daveth nodded toward the weapon belt in his lap. Damn this man and his curiosity. "Have you stolen it somewhere? And if so, can I have these?"

"S-stolen?" Alistair sputtered, couldn't believe it. "N-no, of course not. I only keep them safe until -"

"You!" The sudden, very livid arrival of a particular elven woman stopped Alistair in his tracks. Heedless of all the other Wardens around her, she stormed directly toward him, her whole 5'2" of height shaking with rage. With someone else her size and trim, lean stature, it would have looked comical, but with her it was downright terrifying, causing him to wince. Especially as her gaze fell on the belt he still held onto. "Shem'alas, you stole my weapons!" A few foreign curses in her native language followed her glare before she snatched her belt from him and whirled around. Noticing almost instantly how something was amiss with it, or rather _missing_ still, she turned around again. Oh crap. Everyone around him had fallen deadly silent and stared at the scene unfolding before their eyes. His heart racing, Alistair wished he could dissolve into thin air or at least fling the dagger in another direction and blame it on wild animals. "How dare you touching my belongings?" Gloved hands balled to fists, she looked all too ready to use them on his face. He liked it the way it was, so he quickly and meekly returned the blade to her.

"I-uh, just kept it safe until your return, really." But the Dalish wasn't interested in hearing an explanation, nor to stay. Having reclaimed what was rightfully hers with a growl, she rushed into the other direction without ever to look back. So much for making a good first impression. Or a second, in his case.

"Oh suuure you haaaave," Daveth drawled in her stead, sounding far too amused for his taste. Alistair also noticed his appraising stare at her quickly leaving backside which would have annoyed him, if he wasn't too busy with shrinking into himself. "She is a wild one, innet? I like that."

"Pfft, you like everything on two legs and with tits," Junan cut in, snorting. "Besides this woman will cut your dick off quicker than you can say "Dalish", I'm sure." He turned to Alistair with a shit-eating grin. "So _that_ is the recruit who managed to exhaust the Commander so much that he needed to rest for a few hours after his arrival? I can see now _why_. Heard also she tried to escape a couple of times and run back to her clan. Duncan had to chase after her each time and rein her in to bring her here."

"She did-what?" His face still flushed, Alistair's eyes went wide. "Even with the Blight sickness eating her alive?"

"Aye." He nodded, still grinning. "The darkspawn won't know what is going to hit them." Having met her two times so far and on both occasions furious and glaring, Alistair was more than inclined to agree.

While he still digested the information given to him, Duncan emerged from his tent in the center of their encampment. His mentor walked across the camp to reach them, halting in front of Junan and the warden recruit. "Ah good, Daveth, you are here. Find Jory and then meet me both then, armed and armored, at the large bonfire in the center."

"Aye, boss, will do." Daveth mock-saluted, though turned to leave right after.

As he greeted him with an acknowledging nod, Alistair noticed just how exhausted Duncan looked, despite resting until now. His deep russet complexion had adapted a dull ashen sheen, and his eyes were somewhat bleary and reddened. "Alistair, where is the new recruit who arrived with me?"

"Um, well, she had been here, but you just missed her, actually." Alistair cleared his throat as he stood up. "She left only moments ago." Better not to mention this whole gaffe with her weapons, since he seemed troubled enough already.

"Left?" A panicked edge mixed into his voice, which he wouldn't have understood were it not for Junan's tendency to always gossip like a fishwife.

"The camp, I mean. Not Ostagar," he hurried to add. "...I _hope_."

Duncan pinched the bridge of his nose and rubbed his eyes with his bare hand. "Maker's breath."

"That bad, huh?" He suppressed the grin that wanted to tug at his lips. For Duncan's sake.

Junan next to him was far less subtle, however. "Heard you had some hard days with her, Commander."

Duncan sighed out, letting it fade into a quiet groan. "To put it mildly. Her determination to put distance between herself and myself had been...challenging, but we are here at last." His eyes slid sideways to Junan; a quiet warning to not push the issue further. "And this is all that counts."

"Of course," was the noncommittal agreement. "As long you are sure that Dalish is indeed worth the all trouble, especially so close to the battle."

“I would not have conscripted her if I did not think she had promise.”

"Conscripted?" A bark of laughter escaped Alistair. "You had to _conscript_ her? Maker, she really don't want to be here, huh?" Given how sick she was, her unwillingness was more odd.

"She will have time to adapt to her new life, after the battle," Duncan said in the tone that didn't left room for discussion. "For now it is important we concentrate on the preparations for the Joining."

"I thought Galen already did that?" Junan asked, frowning.

"Yes, thankfully. But as always the recruits have to do their parts too, of course." He turned sideways to Alistair. "I need you to find her and then meet me at our day post with the bonfire. It is time for you to lead your charges through the wilds."

" _Find_ her?" Alistair nearly sputtered, shaking his head. "Duncan, she isn't exactly what you would call cooperative."

"Oh I am sure you will find a way, Junior." Junan nudged him with his elbow, which made him roll his eyes at him, but didn't stop him from doubling down. "Use your charm to rein in the lady."

"If you want her to abandon Ostagar and run back to her clan after all, I just might," he shot back, his tone biting.

"Are you done bickering now?" Duncan simply asked, his gaze stern. "Or are there any more mages you need to sass, Alistair?"

"Junan isn't a ma...-- oh _that_." With all that happened, the unwilling weasel-like mage had already slipped past his mind. He shrugged. "What can I say? The revered mother ambushed me here in camp. The way she wields guilt they should stick her in the army."

Duncan shook his head. "We cannot afford to antagonize anyone, Alistair. We don't need to give anyone more ammunition against us."

Alistair felt his gut knot up. Duncan _also_ utilized guilt as a weapon now, which wasn't wholly fair. Even if there was truth in his words. The picture of Teyrn Loghain and his sharp, judging words about the Wardens came back before his inner eyes, unbidden. "You're right, Duncan. I apologize," he gave in. Letting out a frustrated hiss, Alistair dragged a bare hand through his hair. "Alright, alright, I'm going. Just give me a moment to get ready and -" He trailed off in favor of reclaiming his missing armor pieces and weapons from his tent, glad to feel their familiar weight in his hands. At least he was now armed when meeting her, so now he could hide behind his shield when she would inadvertently resort to glaring at him again. "But if I don't come back -"

"Maker, you treat her as if she is an ogre, when she is just a homesick, young gal, Junior." Normally, the older Warden had the patience of a saint, especially with his brand of humor. So this made his sudden outburst even more unexpected. "I know we were all jesting about her furious appearance here, but maybe, simply try treat her like a person instead?"

"I-" Shoulders slumping, he glanced away. His chest tightened, as guilt settled in once more. Perhaps he had been carried away with it all, with the amusing anecdotes of her gruff behavior and escape attempts. It made her seem more like a mystical creature than a person who was sick with the Blight and cut off from the life and all the people she'd ever known. Not everyone chose to be a Warden like he did and Junan's words were an unwanted but important reminder of that. Maker, come to think of it, he didn't even know her _name_ , least of all anything else. Alistair didn't expect her to share anything with him, considering how their two meetings had gone down so far. Yet it wouldn't hurt to at least _ask_ her. Her being a warden recruit made her his responsibility as well and he had to take care that they, and she in particular, were prepared before meeting darkspawn in the Wilds. Not that he looked forward to this part himself, but as a full-fledged Warden his lead was needed for them there.

"You are right. I really should try this," he said eventually, determined to see it through. Duncan was counting on him, after all. And he, sort of, owned it to the Dalish to give her a chance. At least finding her in the giant ruins had been made easier due to being able to sense the taint in her. Not thinking longer about what _this_ meant, Alistair set out for his task.

  
***

 

The tumbled walls of the ancient ruins stretched upward to loom overhead like the ribs of some massive beast. Overgrown patches of tall grass hugged the stones' ends here and there, while small plants shot up in the cracks between the cobblestone path. They swayed gently in the late-summer breeze and basked in the sun's glow. Despite its peaceful picture, it felt devoid by life to her, as covered in stone as everything here was. Neither the wilderness slowly consuming the aged architecture, nor the moss gripping every wall could shift this impression. To her, it was more an imitation of nature, a last defiant flare of it, not like home. _Never_ like home.

Lenya dragged her hand along the walls as she walked, with far less urgency than before. The stone was hot to her touch, the heat reached even underneath the thick leather of her gloves. Her fingers splayed along each crack within, its white surface made smooth by centuries of rain and wind. It was as much a mindless, idle activity to her as it was to get to know the perimeters of this dreaded place that felt so much like a prison. A very wide, overcrowded, stinking and loud prison at that. Creators, there wouldn't even pass a moment without someone yelling or crying. It felt as though constantly bleating cattle were herded here until they would be led to the slaughter.

Considering how close the impending battle appeared to be, it seemed to be a fitting notion somehow. Meeting their foolish keep – _king_ _–_ earlier hadn't exactly filled her with hope, regarding their overall chance of survival. Alas, this also included her, as caught as she was in this place now.

Behind her, something loud and metallic clattered upon stone. She snapped a suspicious glance over her shoulder toward the source and saw how a flat-eared servant grovelled to his feet to gather the batch of weapons he'd dropped.

 _Pathetic_.

Her face twisted to a scowl and she accelerated her steps to get away from this undignified imitation of an elf. Was this her life now? Being around only _shemlen_ and flat ears who served them without question? If so, dying of this strange sickness seemed the far better, quicker and less painful option. Then again, their idiotic keep- _king_ , who thought of strategy as boring, might do the same trick. If she would even live long enough to see them spectacularly fail, of course.

Sighing at the thought, Lenya looked upward to determinate the current time. With her hand, she shielded her eyes to hinder the glare of the sun from blinding her. It still stood high, framed within a clear blue sky, indicating it was early midday at best. Having long fulfilled the urge to get away from this annoying, _thieving_ shem, she wasn't quite sure what to do with herself now. Stopping again, she breathed in deeply, only to immediately wrinkle her nose at the stench coming from the place with animals constantly...barking? Underneath the tang of hay and musk, it smelled similar to freshly skinned bear fur that hadn't aired out enough yet.

She coughed to keep the sudden bout of nausea at bay, but being too curious she still found herself walking into the direction of the animals. Lenya had heard stories of fearsome war-beasts from Ashalle and the older hunters trading outside in shemlen cities, but never had seen a hound up close. Such animals were revered by the shemlen only and they rarely ventured so deeply into the Brecilian Forest to meet one of the clans. Except for these damn three shemlen with whom everything beg-

"Are you the new Grey Warden?"

Being so caught up in thoughts and the regrets thereof, Lenya hadn't even noticed how the way she threaded had come to an end and led her standing here; in front of the animals' kennel. Only a flimsy wooden fence separated her from the massive war hounds, though she didn't felt threatened. Since most of them simply sat in their pen and peered at her with mild disinterest, if they reacted at all to her presence.

"I could use some help," the voice tried anew, reminding her of being addressed earlier.

Her head snapped up to find yet another, older human looking at her expectantly. He was clad in rough leather armor, his skin a golden brown. His dark, shoulder-long strands and beard were peppered with gray. He kind of reminded her of that damn warden shem, but then again humans looked all the same to her. She crossed her arms, glared up to him. "Why should I help you?"

"This is a mabari. Smart breed, and strong." He gestured to the pen beside him. "His owner died in the last battle, and the poor hound swallowed darkspawn blood. I have medicine that might help, but I need him muzzled first."

Lenya's defiant stance softened. "He is...sick?" _Like me._

The shem nodded, the lines within his face furrowing further as he frowned. "I will have to put him down, if he doesn't get his treatment. To do so, I need to muzzle him first, but I fear to be bitten and contract the darkspawn taint. You however..." He pointed at her. ":.. are a Grey Warden, or soon will be. All Wardens are immune to the darkspawn taint. The most you have to worry about is some tooth marks."

Without to answer, Lenya stepped closer to the pen and stretched herself to peered over the high wooden fence. Behind it, the hound sat huddled against the stone wall in the furthest corner. Ears flattened, the animal trembled and saliva trailed in strings and foamy gobs from his mouth. Sensing her gaze, he heaved his muscular head to look at her with a quiet whine, before falling back into his routine of sickness-induced apathy.

Her throat tightened and she had to blink fast to keep the tears at bay. Seeing the animal struck with the same sickness burning inside of her was too close to comfort."I'll do it," she announced quickly. "I want to help him."

"Thank the Maker!" He let out a sigh of relief and approached her to hand her a weird dark leather construct. "I would have loathed to lose such a fine mabari."

Lenya eyed the foreign...thing before taking it. "How...?"

"This is the muzzle, of course. Put it over his head and jaw," the shemlen explained. "But before you do that, let him smell you. Show him you are no threat."

She didn't reply, was already too focused on taking measured steps forward, as he opened the gate to the pen. Her breath quickened as she advanced to the animal and briefly caught in her throat, when she saw its massive size up close. The beast was easily three feet high at the shoulder and covered in coarse, tawny fur with black dots. Growling quietly, he pressed his heavily-muscled body further into the wall behind him. Curling his lips back in warning, he revealed teeth looking as sharp and large as those of grown forest bears.

Instinctively, Lenya halted all her movements. Backed away in the corner as the animal already was, every further step would have been one too much and cause it to attack. So instead of coming too close, she started to slowly and very deliberately kneel down to be at one level with the mabari. It was a dangerous gamble, for one wrong or too hasty movement could signal the hound to jump and kill her with his massive jaws and fangs. Letting the heavy leather muzzle fall down beside her into the hay, she looked at him and found remarkable intelligence in these honey-colored eyes.

" _Harel'din, da'fen._ I'm not here to hurt you," Lenya said, keeping her voice soft and low.

Relinquishing his aggressive stance almost immediately after she had spoken these words, the hound cocked his head and observed her with open interest. "You can feel it burning too, right? The sickness, the corruption. It churns within your veins and beneath your skin like a festering wound." He gave her a small woof, as if agreeing, and she had the inkling how he understood _every_ word of it. "I'm sick too, you know?" His short, pointy ears now upright, he whined and pawed at the soft, hay-covered soil. He looked as if wanting to come closer to her, but seemed unsure of it.

Lenya breathed in, small choppy intakes of air that tasted too much like sadness upon her tongue. It was too late to back down now anyhow, even if a not insignificant part of her felt incredibly stupid for baring her soul to a _dog_. Then again, she had spoken to her clan's halla before and this creature seemed to possess similar intelligence and awareness of its surroundings. "My Keeper's magic kept the sickness at bay for weeks, but I can feel its effect dwindling, and the corruption starting to eat at me again. It _hurts_ and-" Trailing off to swallow thickly, Lenya's voice dropped to a hushed whisper. "Maybe it would have been better if I hadn't survived this and died like –" The hound let out a long, loud whine and nudged her with his head. The sudden force of it nearly threw her off-balance and she needed a moment to stabilize herself; in more sense than one. Huffing softly, he lay his large head upon her shoulder, practically forcing her to embrace his thick, muscular neck. As she did so, she regretted to still wear her gloves. Her fingers itched to feel the coarse, short fur her hands were curled into. The hound still smelt too much like wet forest bear and wolf combined for her taste, though the quiet solace, this sudden understanding between them, was too invaluable to her to really care about it now.

"You have lost someone too, haven't you?" He nudged her shoulder and whined plaintive next her ear. Then, the mabari begun to pant more and more all the sudden. The tremor rocking through his canine body vibrated underneath her fingertips, reminding her why she came here in the first place. Like her, the animal was in pain. "Let me help you, _da'fen_. Hold still." Backing away, she reached for the muzzle beside her. Lenya noticed how he fought against the trembles and held still for her, even as she needed several attempts to fit the muzzle over his head in the right way. "There, done." She patted his head. "Good boy. You'll see, it will be alright. Everything will be alright," she repeated, not believing her own words. How could she, so far away from everyone she'd ever cared for?

Behind her, someone cleared his throat and fell into a fit of coughing in doing so. "I...um, wow, here you are," the person then managed and she recognized his voice. It was this damn thieving shem again. How long had he been standing there? Her ears twitched as the heat rose to its tips. Once. Twice. She was going to kill him. Swallowing through a too tight throat, the incalescence of embarrassment settled in the pit of her stomach as a blazing fire, burning in tune with the corruption inside. While jumping to her feet and whirling round to him, her shoulders stiffened. " _You_! Again!"

"This was remarkable, Warden," the hound master interrupted her with a smile, completely oblivious to her rage. "I have rarely seen something like this, if at all. I thought he was a lost case, but now I can treat the dog properly- poor fellow."

Lenya only spared him a single sharp look before approaching the Warden again. She stemmed her hands into her hips and peered up to his impossible height. _Why_ _are_ _all_ _the_ _shemlen_ _so tall, ugh._

"Why are you following me around, shem?"

He made several unintelligible sounds with his mouth popping open and shut, letting it end in a whimper. Pink slowly turned to crimson and settled within the cheeks of his brown skin. Hazel-colored eyes darted about in panic as he struggled for anything resembling words. Her own eyes narrowed on him with a scoff.

Creators, even the dog just now had better communication skills.

"I, um, was searching for you, in fact," he said, just when she'd given up to ever hear a coherent word out of his mouth. "And I found you, wow." His held breath came out as a weak, nervous laugh.

"Yes, you have," she stated, coolly, and stepped out of the dog pen. "Now go away."

"I would leave you talking to...hounds all day, if I could..." Her look at him shifted to a full blown glare at that, causing him to add in a rush, "...but as the Junior member of the order and you being a warden recruit, it is my task to take care of you and-"

"Like stealing my weapons?"

His eyes pinched briefly shut. When he reopened them, his expression on her hardened. "I did _not_ steal them, nor did I intent to eavesdrop on your quality time with the dog." Huffing out a resigned sigh, he looked upwards and grimaced. "Look," the shem said, his gaze open, beseeching her. "I'm aware we started off on a wrong foot. Or... _several_ , in fact. But since we are going to spend the next hours together, can we please start over? My name is Alistair and-"

Lenya's eyebrows shot up to her hairline, before furrowing to a frown. "The next few hours? Why?"

"Hmm, caught that part at least, huh?" His lips twitched with wry amusement. Which was a surprising change after all of his stammering and overall idiocy. "I see you already have your weapons that you are so fond of. Good. Since you and I, err, and the two other recruits are going to head to the Wilds very soon."

Everything in her bristled at the mere thought of spending any more minutes with that human, least of all _hours_. "No."

"Aww, don't be like that, dear lady." Pursing his lips to a mock pout, he clasped his gauntleted hands over his heart. " You wound my pride."

"I will wound _much_ more if you don't leave me alone," Lenya warned and begun to head into the opposite direction of this living and breathing nuisance. Though the kennel master's voice quickly halted her steps.

"Excuse me, Wardens. I couldn't help to overhear your conversation. You are heading into the Korcari Wilds soon?"

"Yes."

"No." She continued to walk away.

"There's a particular herb I could use to improve the dog's chances to survive." At that, Lenya froze on the spot, turning around to face the older man from some distance. The shemlen took it as sign to go on with his request. "It's a flower that grows in the Wilds here, often on top of rotting wood. If you happen across it, I could use the plant to treat the dog. It looks very distinctive: all white with a blood-red center."

Lenya squinted at him, then at the dog's pen, and back at the man. She pointedly ignored the Warden shem standing in the middle of it. "Why don't you do it yourself?"

"I would, but the wilds are off-limit to non-soldiers," he explained, heaving his shoulders to a shrug. "And I have many other hounds under my care."

"Will the mabari be alright without the flower?"

"For a time, perhaps." The man said, shaking his head. "But eventually I would have to put him down."

 _Ugh_. Lenya gritted her teeth together. She hated the anew lack of choices, which seemed to clung to her like halla droppings did to boots. Agreeing to this task meant to agree following the other, _very_ annoying shemlen, but if she wouldn't do this, the hound would most certainly die. And from all the people in this creators-damned place, she liked the dog most... _by far_. "Fine," she pressed out. "I'll go there, for the flower."

"Aaaand collecting darkspawn blood." Lenya grimaced at _his_ reappearance, which he mistook as disgust about the topic. "Sorry, it is part of your task for the Joining, but don't worry, I will be with you, err, _all of you_ , all the way." Smiling a lopsided grin, the shem steered toward the center of the main area.

"Great," she groused, and followed him in some distance.

"Yes, isn't it?" he agreed, his voice laced in a sarcastic cheer. "Like a party, indeed. We can all stand in a circle and hold hands. _That_ would give the darkspawn there pause, I'm sure." Slowing down his walk, he waited for her to catch up to him, thwarting even her plan of keeping distance. He turned to her, as soon she arrived in line with him. "Come to think about it, I still don't know your name."

"Because I have not given it to you, shem."

"Right. So, um, what do I call you, then?"

"Not interested."

"Hello 'not interested', I'm Alistair." _Oh no, he did not just--_ Lenya's step hitched in the effort to not throw herself down and curl into a ball of cringe. Oblivious to her inner pain, he flashed her a grin and seemed quite proud of himself. "Huh, this is a strange name for a woman. Is it Dalish, perhaps?"

 _Ugh_ , she thought. "Ugh," she also said, accentuating the word with another grimace, while accelerating her steps as Duncan came into view in front of a large bonfire. For all the many times she tried to get away from this damn human, she could currently not be any more glad to see him again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Change notes: 
> 
> I scrapped the entire old chapter and version, since I now really dislike the tone, pacing and characterization in it. Lenya's characterization is also different, though in its essence still stays true to her overall character. I just wanted to dig deeper than the cringy "har har look a crazy elf who glares a lot" my old version had going on for some reason. And this is the (hopefully better) result of it. I did cut a lot of the unimportant side-quest stuff I have described in great detail in the old version. Helping the dog is the only one that is plot-relevant, after all. 
> 
> Also new is the emphasis on her blight sickness, which I had forgone before, but found important to bring in greater detail. After all, Mahariel is the only origin where you are already tainted and need the Joining to live. 
> 
> Kudos and especially comments are much appreciated.


	3. Where The Wild Things Are

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> On the search for darkspawn blood and the Grey Warden relict in the Wilds, Lenya finds herself wanting to know more about a certain person they meet, and discovers that some legends *are* true.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So sorry, but I had to cut the chapter in half again, because the last part of it isn't done yet. I have it 85% written and thus will publish it next week instead of the usual bi-weekly schedule, for once. Deal? ;)
> 
> The beta-d version of this chapter will follow soon, since my new beta still needs time to catch up with all that I have already written. So excuse my non-native mistakes made with grammar, etc likely found within.

"Help!"

Hearing a strangled voice cry cutting through the thick air of the Wilds, Alistair broke into a sprint. With his weapon and shield still in hands, he cut around the faraway corner, past the wolf carcasses they had killed only moments earlier. The three recruits followed him with some distance. Or at least, he hoped they would.

Arriving long before they did, he found himself standing within a site of a bloody massacre. A massive wagon lay overturned on the side of the swamp, and the equally large oxen that had been pulling it lay dead next to it in a large pool of blood. Huge strips of meat and even some limbs had been torn off the animal, which clearly had been the handiwork of darkspawn, ugh, _feasting_ upon its carcass. The animal hadn't been the only victim of the attack, of course. Several heavy-armored men lay face-down and bloodied on the spongy, unnatural green ground turned crimson. Alistair heard the heavy steps of Jory and Daveth approaching behind him, yet otherwise the Wilds were deathly quiet. Had he he just imagined to hear --

"Over here!" There it was again. Darting forward, he now saw a wounded man sprawled on the ground, who tried to crawl toward him. The man squinted up at him, his words rushed, panicked. "My scouting band was attacked by darkspawn! They came out of the ground. Please, help me! I've got to... return to camp!"

He quickly set aside his weapon and shield to rummage in his small supply bag for the sparse bandages within. Having found them, Alistair peered down at the man and raised an eyebrow. "Well, he's not half as dead as he looks, is he?"

"Who is that?" the wounded soldier pressed out, pained. "Grey Wardens?"

"Ugh," the Dalish made what seemed to be her umpteenth noise of disgust, causing him to jump. He hadn't even noticed when she'd appeared next to him. However useful it had proven to be only moments ago, it was still a little unsettling to him how _quiet_ she was able to move. Looking back up, she let her eyes stray to the distanced part of the swamp, and all the sudden the scowl seemingly permanently etched within her expression vanished. "Oh," she exclaimed, stepping over the wounded, gore-covered soldier as if he were mere part of the scenery, "I think I have found it."

Before he could bristle at her callousness, Daveth spoke up. "Ya finished staring, or do ya wanna wait till the fellow here bleeds out?" The man on the ground moaned, too weak to ask for help again.

 _Right_.

Kneeling down to him, Alistair started to cautionary probe for his worst wounds. He quickly found them in his midsection, where a part of his armor was missing. "Jory, help me to press down here," he said, though the man remained frozen on the spot, as if in fear.

"Andraste's bare tits," Daveth swore, rolling his eyes as he pushed past him and took Jory's place to aid Alistair. "Are ya useful for anything, ser knight?"

"Did you hear? An entire patrol of seasoned men killed by darkspawn!" Ser Jory's breath came out as a tremble. "How many darkspawn can the four of us slay? A dozen? A hundred? There's an entire army in these forests!"

Alistair bit down an annoyed groan bubbling up his throat. He did not have time for this, especially not _right now._ While he focused on fastening and securing the bandage as tight as possible around the soldier's midsection, he still looked up to the frightened man for a moment. "Yes, there are darkspawn about, but we're in no danger of walking into the bulk of the horde. As a Warden, I can sense them."

"See, ser Knight," Daveth said, looking up with a smirk in his face."We might die horribly, but at least we will be warned about it."

Just as he had finished treating the wounds and helped the man back up on his feet, the elven woman reappeared next to him. For a moment, the soldier wobbled, was unsteady on his feet, but still pushed past them, eager to get away. "T-thank you! I... I've got to get out of here!"

The Dalish watched him hobble away toward camp with barely disguised contempt. "He will never make it back alone. It would have been better to put him out of his misery."

"Oh yes, of course. This is not callous at all," Alistair bit back, glaring at her. "Maker, remind me to never get wounded around you!" He scoffed. "But wow, so _nice_ of you to join us again."

She mirrored his glare with her own, before extinguishing its furiosity in a roll of her eyes. "Whatever, _shem_. I have what I want, so I am going now."

His gaze flicked down to her hands, recognizing she held the same flower the kennel master had described to them not long ago. "Eager to return to your only friend, I see." At that, her steps hitched and eventually stopped. It was a low blow, not his finest moment by far. Yet something about her, this sheer indifference she showed for everyone around her, let him all too willingly rise to the bait she had laid out so readily. She made it obvious every waking moment that she didn't want to be here and exactly that made him livid too. The Wardens - _Duncan_ \- tried to save her life and still she'd shown them - _him_ \- nothing but contempt so far.

"Eh lass, not that I mind leaving this bloody place with ya," Daveth chipped in, "But ya still need to collect yo share of darkspawn blood and find the cache with us before ya do that!" Her answer came swift in form of a raised middle finger over her shoulder.

"Oh, ruuude." The thief laughed out, snorting. Unlike Jory who stared shocked into her direction, he seemed amused by her reaction. "In which part of the forest did they teach ya that?"

Alistair didn't share his enthusiasm, far from it, in fact. With a quick stride he closed the distance she already had put between herself and them, and grabbed her by the arm to force her to look at him. Underneath the hard pace of the heartbeat thrumming in his ears, he was aware of yelling. "What is your sodding problem, woman?"

She locked eyes with him for a moment, motionless. Then, she yanked her arm away to release his grip on her. "Don't touch me!" Her shoulders pushed back in a stiff line, before they begun trembling. So did her voice, contrasting the sharpness of her tone. "My problem?" She gritted her teeth. "You. Them. This here. All of it. No one _asked_ for you _shemlen_ to intervene. And still did one of yours strode into our camp like a human emerald knight, after -" Her voice faltered and she swallowed audibly.

"Oh _excuse_ if Duncan tries to save you."

"I did not _ask_ him to!" she burst out. "Nor did I want him to take me away from my clan."

Scowling, Alistair shook his head. "Maker, woman, don't you wanna live? Joining the Wardens is your only way to survive your illness."

"And? What life is _that?"_  She stepped closer still, imposing on his personal space so much that he could feel the heat radiating from her body upon his face. Inhaling harshly to steady himself, the scent of leather and blood wafted into his flared nostrils. The taint inside of her screamed and scratched in his head, was volatile, akin to darkspawn. He backed away, needed to."I would have rather wanted to die among my clan, my family, but I didn't even get that. Instead I'm now stuck, caught and imprisoned _here_ , like the hound in his pen. Only difference is my pen is a bit larger. So yeah," Her smile at him was sardonic, bitter. "Don't expect me to grovel at your feet like the flat-ears do."

"I'm not, at all." Alistair had no idea whom she actually meant with 'flat-ears', but it was the most candid she'd ever been with him, so far. He could use it, hopefully. "Just...returning to camp will achieve nothing. We can't return without these items. If we do, it will only postpone the Joining, and you should know _why_ this would be a bad idea for you."

Her shoulders fell back down as some of her tension dissipated, though her eyes never lost their intensity. "Everyone keeps going on about this Joining. What makes it so fucking special?"

"Look," he said with a sigh, dropping his voice further. "I can't tell you much. Only that it will make you, err, _immune_ against the sickness inside of you. So this is a good thing, right?"

She scoffed. "This remains to be seen."

"Still angry, then." He huffed out a curt laugh, felt the corner of his lip turn upward. "Good. If you use _that_ against the darkspawn we will meet, I can ensure you we will get done here much faster."

The elf was quiet for a moment, seemed to weigh her options. Looking down, he saw how she twirled the thin stem of the dog flower between her gloved fingers. Her foot tapped repeatedly on the ground, its sound swallowed by the spongy soil. "Fine," she said another moment later, stowing the flower safely away in her belt bag. "I can do that."

"Really?" Truth be told, Alistair hadn't expected her to agree to him -to any of it, to be exact. "Huh, glad to hear it then. So, since we are getting along so well now, will you reveal the secret of your name?"

"You are pushing your luck, shem."

"No, it is more for strategic reasons." _Mostly_. "It will be difficult to warn you about darkspawn wanting to stab your back or any other side of you, when all I can do is yell 'hey _you_ , watch out.' Because then everyone is starting to turn around and-"

"Creators, will you shut up if I tell you my name?"

Alistair chuckled. "Maybe? Unless it is warning you about darkspawn or-"

"Lenya, ugh."

"Lenya, _ugh_? Is that your surname?" Okay, maybe he was overusing this joke and indeed pushing his luck. He raised his hands in apology to keep her from snapping at him. "I jest, I jest. It is a nice name, really."

"I don't care what you think," she said, pushing roughly past him. Ah, so back to old hostility, it was. He let out a wry snort as he watched her - _Lenya_ \- stalking away, this time into the right direction.

 

***

 

The last darkspawn of the horde fell dead to the ground with a dull thud, speared in the back by one of her blades. Pulling the dagger out, Lenya averted her face as black, acrid arcs of blood from a torn artery sprayed hotly across her arms. The rank, pungent reek of corruption bit and burned in her nose, reminding her all too much of rotting deer carcasses left behind by wild predators in the woods.

Holding her breath, she squatted down to its corpse to fill her own vial with the remainder of its rancid blood. The two idiots of recruits already had fulfilled this task some time ago and the Warden shem kept annoying her to get her own one. So it was better to finally get it over with, her deep disgust and repulsion to touch these rotten bastards beyond her blades notwithstanding.

"Ugh," she made, after resurfacing, giving the twisted figure on the ground a hard kick with her boots.

"I see you got your vial at last, Lenya." Wiping his sword at some leafs and sheathing it again, the Warden approached her. "About time, too. Would have been awkward if we have killed all the darkspawn in our way and you _still_ wouldn't have gotten your vial after all."

She felt him looming at her back, but didn't turn around to face him. "If you don't want me add more than a vial of _your_ blood to it, you better shut up, shem!"

"Aww." He chuckled, amused and low. "Why did I know you would say that? I think it is because we were getting to know each other really well the past hours here." It wasn't his first delve into sarcasm and sadly it would be by far his last. "I also know that this isn't your first time meeting darkspawn," he added, his tone suddenly far more serious.

"Oh really?" Lenya rolled her eyes and found herself observing the horizon. Behind a thick white vapor, the lower-hanging sun looked like faded orb robbed of most of its color and brilliance. It would be evening soon. "How you excel in stating the obvious, shem. Since you have been here too the past hours."

"No, I meant _before_ the Wilds."

She whirled around, staring at him. "What? How do you know?"

"Just common sense, really." He shrugged. The motion lifted the heavy shoulder plates of his armor up with a creak. "I see, um, the way you fight them. You go straight for their weak points. Such things aren't common knowledge, unless you have already encountered them or studied them."

Now Lenya was the one shrugging, if only to cover up her surprise about how... observant this shemlen was. "As hideous as these bastards are, they bleed the same like a person or animal would. So it isn't exactly complicated to kill them."

"Oh, I will remind you of _that_ when we are encountering an ogre. After I have finished soiling my pants, of course." A small smile tucked at his lips. "In any case, it shows why Duncan recruited you."

"Recruited?" Lenya started walking toward the faraway building up the hill, which was half-shrouded in mist. She didn't even bother to wait for him, least of all for the other two idiots who trailed after them like obedient, brain-dead creatures. Threading up the hill toward what seemed like crumbling remains of a ruin, she scoffed. "Such a nice word for ripping me away from my life and family."

"Yes, and if it saves your life, wasn't it worth it, then?" he argued from some distance behind her, and she heard how his steps accelerated when he seemed to recognize where she headed to. "T-this is the tower we search for!" There was relief in his voice she felt too, if for wholly other reasons. She was sick and tired of this place and its company. There had been nothing but darkspawn, stinking bogs, opaque waddles of mist obscuring her sight, and humid, foul air to breathe for endless hours now. At this point, she would gladly return to the camp she had called her prison before.

"The chest... The treaties..." Suppressing the groan at the human's alerted voice, she rushed upwards to see what had caused it. Only to let it out when she arrived and saw it for herself. Underneath the remnants of spiraling stone stairs stood a heavy metallic chest, like the Warden leader shemlen said it would. Though instead of finding it sealed as thought, the lid of it was burst into many sharp bits, and its content... _missing_. Lenya reached up to rub her forehead in annoyance, which only served to smear the blood stuck there further across her face. _Ugh_.

"Oh perfect. This whole bloody trek had been for nothing then, eh?" one of the two idiots said behind her. While she had never bothered to learn their names, nor cared much for their existence in general, she found herself agreeing to this sentiment of the rogue.

The whiny knight looked about to cry. _Again_. "What are we going to do no-"

"Well, well, what have we here?" Lenya jerked around to the sudden, haughty voice. It belonged to a woman who had appeared just as suddenly in the ruin above them. One look was enough to ascertain how this was no ordinary human. Long jet-black hair tied back framed an oval face, and pale yellow eyes regarded them with mocking amusement from above.

Wrapped around and across her chest and midsection was a long, flowing, crimson scarf, secured in place by a dark-brown belt. It contrasted the black of the mixture of leather and cloth she wore underneath. The outer layers formed a robe that hung askew yet snugly over her lean hips, while thick leather leggings and near thigh high, black boots completed the other part of her outfit. Her ornamented golden shoulder pad was adorned with beads and feathers as dark as the leathery sleeve protecting her whole left shoulder down to her wrist. It stood in stark disparity with the paleness of her right, near naked skin of her arm.

Taking a few steps forward, Lenya watched how she slowly descended the ramp with confidence and a sauntering grace. "Are you a vulture, I wonder? A scavenger poking amidst a corpse whose bones have been long since cleaned? Or merely an intruder, come into these darkspawn filled wilds of mine in search of... easy prey?"

While she wore a skinning knife within the belt around her hips, it was the rough wooden staff strapped to her back that caused the fools behind her to gasp and step back in fear. Lenya however felt no such urge, quite the contrary. For the first time ever, she found herself wanting to know more about another person _outside_ of her clan.

Coming at a stop at the end of the stone ramp, the woman's eyes snapped to her, her tone demanding. "What say you, hmm? Scavenger, or intruder?"

"Neither," Lenya replied, holding her sharp gaze with ease. "But I'm weary of running around in ' _your_ ' Wilds, only to find the very thing we came for is missing."

"Missing? Hmm, 'tis most curious. I have watched your progress for some time, you know." She started to circle around the group in a measured stride, like a predator on a prowl. "'Where do they go,' I wondered, 'why are they here?' - And now you disturb ashes none have touched for so long. Why is that?"

Alistair leaned in to Lenya, his voice a not-so discreet whispered warning. "Do not speak to her, She looks Chasind, and that means others may be nearby."

"What?" She flashed him a sardonic smile that indicated well enough how little she cared for his opinion. _That_ , she already had in common with her, at least. The woman threw her half-gloved hands up in a sudden, mocking manner. "You fear barbarians will swoop down upon you?"

"Yeeees, swoooooping is baaaad." _Ugh_. The way the Warden shem dragged and drawled his words really grated on Lenya's already thin nerves and patience.

"She's a Witch of the Wilds, she is! She'll turn us into toads!" one of the fools behind her thought it being a good moment to add his own needless, inane comment to the matter. His eyes fixed at the mage were as wide in fear at the mage as a docile deer in front of a hunter's bow. Nor did his hands ever inch away from and twitched on the hilt of his daggers.

"Good," Lenya quipped, pointing at them over her shoulder. "If you do so, please start with the three idiots behind me."

Amused by the unexpected answer, she turned back to the Dalish. "You seem to be quite unimpressed by all this, elf. Nor afraid. 'Tis curious why a seemingly smart woman travels with such... _simple_ companions."

"I wonder about that myself actually," Lenya said with shrug of her shoulder. "It was not by choice, that is for sure."

"Hey!" the Warden shem protested, like an over-sized _da'len_ getting scolded. Lenya couldn't care less.

Closing the distance to the witch, she crossed her arms. "Amusing as it is to see them squirming in fear of you like little boys, will you finally tell me what happened to the contents of that Grey Warden chest?"

"Perhaps." She observed her with open interest as she leaned herself at a broad trunk of a dead tree. If you give me your name, Dalish. Let us be civilized." 

 _"En'an'sal'en,_ my name is Lenya Mahariel of the Sabrae clan," she spoke without thinking and winced as soon as her clan's name went over her lips. Like salt upon an open wound, the mere mention of... _them_ burned inside. "Or...I _was_ ," she added, much quieter, averting her gaze.

"My, such manners." Her fine, dark eyebrow arched up in amusement, but her smile seemed genuine. "What a rare thing to find here in these Wilds. And you may call me Morrigan." Crossing her arms. she let out a long breath. "What you search is here no longer, obviously."

"'Here no longer?' You _stole_ them, didn't you? You're... some kind of... sneaky... witch-thief!"

Look who was talking. The thieving shem accusing _others_ of thieving. Oh, the irony. Lenya's hands flexed into fists. She struggled with the wish to turn around and punch him in his throat, just to render him blessedly silent for a creators-damn moment. Instead to give in to this urge, she rolled her eyes and groaned; in unison with Morrigan, as it turned out.

"...but 'twas not I who took it," she finished, pointedly ignoring his inane comment.

"Who did then?"

"T'was my mother, in fact." Pushing herself off the trunk she leaned at, she stalked over to the Dalish. "You do not assume I spawned from a log, do you?"

"A thieving, weird-talking log, perhaps." Unasked, he doubled down on comments after being ignored, though was yet again met with all-too justified indifference.

"So...will you take me to her then?" Lenya asked and rolled her eyes once more. "Since it seems that we are forbidden to return without these damn documents. Whatever they are."

"Now that is a sensible request. I _like_ you," Morrigan gave her a look of approval." I can take you to her, yes. 'Tis not far from here, in fact."

"They are old Grey Warden treaties, and you better give them back!" the Warden shem blustered once more, this time earning himself an annoyed stare of the witch.

"Invoke a name that means nothing to me here, I care not," she sneered at him. "Least of all if you morons will follow me back to my mother's hut, or continue to prefer to cower in fear here." She turned back to Lenya, her tone much friendlier. "Come then. Follow me, if it pleases you."

As intrigued as she was by this human, Lenya hadn't to be told twice.

 

***

 

Morrigan expertly led them through a narrow path with gnarled, old trees towering overhead on both sides, and around bogs they would have surely stumbled in without her guidance. After taking a last turn, the path opened up in a clearing, and behind the low-hanging shroud of mist a withered hut came partly into view. The white haze on the ground seemed to dance and twist around them while they approached closer to the small, slanted building.

Pikes of wood stuck out ominously of its green and halfway muddy grass top roof. Wisps of silver grey smoke curled and danced their way through the thick, hazy air from three fine slits within the grassy roof. Broad lines of moss climbed up the hut's grey windowless stonewall front like a sickly green tapestry, clinging to the crevices and cracks within.

In front of its massive door, its wood painted dark with age and decay, stood an old woman, who seemed to expect them. Her robe was formed mostly of thick brown furs, and the dark leather underneath looked similar to what Morrigan wore.

"Mother, here I bring you the four Wardens..."

"I'm not blind, dear. I can see them-" Morrigan's mother laughed with easy amusement, her shortish white hair shook within the motion. Her eyes, yellow in color as well, stood out from behind a stripe of jet-black, painted horizontally across her face and eyes. Due to that, Lenya found it hard to look at her, but maybe this was exactly its intended purpose. As the old witch stepped closer to the group to observe them, she felt the three shemlen behind her shrink back from her approach.

"Hmm, as expected," she mused, her voice as dark as the paint around her eyes. Her wrinkly, old and seemingly frail appearance was deceiving, for Lenya could practically feel the air thrumming with magic, and prickling upon her skin; even through the thick leather of her armor. Without a doubt, the old witch was the source of it all.

"Are we supposed to believe you were expecting us?"

Eyes flitting over to the tall Warden, she let out a sharp guffaw. "You are required to do nothing, least of all, believe. Shut one's eyes tight or open one's arms wide... either way, one's a fool!"

" _Asha'belannar_. The woman of many years," Lenya blurted out, so suddenly that all heads turned toward her and stared. Finally, she remembered it again. The stories her clan told on evenings over campfire; whispered words of fears and admiration for a powerful witch living amidst hostile landscape of the Korcari Wilds, since many decades; maybe even centuries. "This is what my people call you. You are a friend of the Dalish. Or so they say," she quickly added, fidgeting with the buckle of her armor to quell her nerves.

Her sallow, sunken cheeks rose with a full-teethed smile. "Ah, you are of the People, of course. So young and bright, and yet so much of you is unknown." Another cackle. "But at least I'm not called _old_ by your kind."

"She is a witch. We shouldn't talk to her; she will turn us into toads."

Her eyes flashed wickedly at one of the two human idiots. "Hmm, actually I'd prefer to cook your flesh and then tear it apart from your bones." She laughed as they both shuddered, taking delight in their fear. "Such anxious little boys, they are, hmm? If you had listen to the young lady, you'd know you don't have to be. I'm _just_ a woman of many years, after all."

"Sooo. this is a dreaded Witch of the Wilds?" the Warden shem drawled, a snort following his words. Unlike the other two humans, he appeared unafraid, somewhat amused even. Odd, considering his open hostility and distrust toward Morrigan before.

Looking at him, _Asha'belannar_ cocked her head with a wicked grin. "Witch of the Wilds, eh? Morrigan must have told you that. She fancies such tales, though she would never admit it! Oh, how she dances under the moon." Ending her words with a cackle, she seemed to laugh about her own joke.

Behind her, Morrigan covered her face with her hand, and sighed; long and loud. "They did not come to listen to your wild tales, Mother." This was indeed correct, but it was still amusing to see how even age-old witches never fail to embarrass their children. Lenya's mouth twitched, as she observed how Morrigan pinched the bridge of her nose and let out some quiet, yet colorful curses her extended elvhen hearing was able to catch.

"True, they came for their treaties, yes?" came as noncommittal answer and with a shrug. She waved her hand, which made the two idiots gasp and step back, and suddenly held a yellowed, rolled up stack of papers. Stepping toward the Warden in their group, she handed it to him. "And before you begin barking, your precious seal wore off long ago. I have protected these."

"You... _protected_ them?" The shem looked down, blinking at the documents in his hands.

"And why not?" The many wrinkles within her face deepened further as she frowned, though it was short-lived. "Just remember to tell your Grey Wardens that this blight is bigger than they expect it. Or maybe they do expect it. Who am I to know? I'm just a _woman_ _of many years_ with a penchant for moldy parchments. Oh, do not mind me. You have what you came for!" She chuckled lightly before looking at her daughter. "Since those are your guests, Morrigan, lead them out of the Wilds, would you?"

Morrigan let out a displeased groan, but eventually complied to her mother's wish, and turned to go. "Very well then. Follow me. _Again_."

 

*******

 

Thanks to Morrigan's guidance, however reluctant, the way out of the Wilds had been much quicker. Her ability to lead the group around any darkspawn horde helped to save much precious time as well. As soon she was certain they would manage on their own, the witch had quietly slipped away, leaving them standing at Ostagar's gate. Back to where they started so many hours ago.

Lenya regretted to see her go, though found herself to be glad to be back in camp, even. While she preferred and felt more comfortable in the wilderness than in a massive stone fortress like Ostagar, the Korcari Wilds were a strange, hostile place barren of any nature she was used to.

"Home sweet home, eh, lass?"

Not answering, Lenya shuddered and rubbed her leather-clad arms. The idiot addressing her was not to blame for the sudden goosebumps however- but a gust of harsh wind, creeping even underneath her armor with its briskness. The fading of the sunlight had also meant the fading of the heat. Torches flickered within their wall sconces, its warm yellowish gleam was the only source of light within an otherwise pitch black night. She glanced up, seeing the moon standing high and nearly full within a matt black canvas. The stars were hidden behind a solid tuft of clouds. Trekking through the Wilds had taken all day and some of the evening too, leaving her longing for a meal and a bit of rest.

"Well, good to be back, that is for sure," the Warden shem said, rolling his shoulders. "I have to report back to Duncan first, so feel free to clean up and grab a bite to eat." He pointedly looked at her. "Don't stray too far however, since you don't want to miss your own Joining, right?"

She rolled her eyes at him. "Yes, this would be such a shame."

"The J-joining?" Ser Whiny Knight did what he had excelled in the hours before; complaining. Lenya would never understand why humans called such a simpering weakling a _knight_ , least of all why the Warden leader recruited him. "Even more tests? Have I not earned my place?"

"Oh, shut the fuck up," she groused, and stormed away.

"Well Jory, you heard the lady," she heard the other idiot say, before putting the needed distance between them and herself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Change Notes: 
> 
> Except for a few sentences here and there, I scrapped the entire old chapter(s). and only kept the Morrigan and Flemeth scene as they (mostly) happen in canon. Lenya surprised me this chapter about how candid she already was toward Alistair here, even if it was just through an outburst. I had planned to let her be much more stoic/broody, but as always the girl has a mind of her own :)
> 
> Visual aids:  
> I have changed up quite a few things in this chapter that went beyond what is in the (vanilla) game. First of all, in OEaH:R Morrigan doesn't run around in the swamp half-naked with her tits out. Instead, she wears [this much better outfit](https://www.nexusmods.com/dragonage/mods/4630/?), originating from a mod. Flemeth's look is different too. I use and describe the [Concept Art Flemeth Morph](https://www.nexusmods.com/dragonage/mods/4748/?). The hut described is not the one in the game but the one shown in the [World Of Thedas Vol.2 art](https://imgur.com/a/WxErQ)
> 
> Kudos and especially comments are most appreciated.


End file.
